Castiel and Crowley SE2 Episode 4:The New Order
by WatchingOne
Summary: The line in the sand is drawn – the universe is down to its last bastion. The forces of Darkness and the Old Ones are clawing at the Gate, desperate to wipe everything out. But 'real life' hasn't had its final say with Castiel and Crowley just yet...
1. That New World Smell

**That New World Smell**

"What do you mean the card is declined?" Crowley practically growled, his annoyance showing all over his face as well as his fingers, which were drumming dramatically on the ticket counter at LAX.

The airline ticket agent was just making it worse by insisting on keeping her 'customer-service' face on. The persistent, blank smile being the only answer to Crowley's anger was making his blood boil more and more rapidly every second.

"Actually, sir," the agent practically purred. "Policy requires that the card be destroyed. Annnnd..." she looked down at her screen, tapped a few keys, and finally, her smile broke. Crowley perked up, thinking that maybe they were getting somewhere now.

"Um...I'm afraid..." she squinted at the screen and looked very nervous. She turned around to her partner to her left and flapped her hand furiously for him to come over.

"Brad...!" she hissed loudly, "Can you _please_ help me out here?" she pleaded.

"Sure thing Maggie!" Brad replied cheerily, still wearing his customer service smile. He flashed it brilliantly at Castiel, Crowley and Dean, which made Crowley tap the counter even more rapidly and harder. Brad looked at the monitor, and his smile promptly faded like Maggie's had.

"Something amiss?" Crowley asked with over-exaggerated pleasantry.

Brad looked up, and, to his credit, was able to put on a semblance of his customer service smile back on. "Sir, I'm afraid that I'll be having to check with airport security here."

"Whatever for?", Crowley asked, blinking dumbly, his voice dripping with artificial honey.

"Yes...um...it says here that we need to _detain_ the card holder." Crowley saw that despite the nervous smile, Brad had started to sweat a bit from his temple.

"I'm sure that's an error, Bradley," Castiel smiled, leaning forward.

"Um...sir...sorry, it really isn't..."

"Fellas?" Dean broke in. "Something I should know about here?"

Crowley turned around to smile at Dean. "Kinda makes you miss the howling beasts and towering abominations looking to eat our souls, doesn't it?"

"Um, sir...sorry? But, I really don't understand that reference..."

"Of course, the knowledge that those same aforementioned beasts are all still out there howling all around our little fortress-bubble of reality just leaves you feeling all warm and fuzzy when you think about it, doesn't it?"

"Er...excuse me...um... _sir_?"

"But what I think that Bradley here is trying to tell me is that my unlimited-funds Gold Card has been reported stolen or something to that effect, Dean," Crowley smiled. "Now wasn't _that_ a nice little detail for Atropos to include in this new world?"

Castiel rolled his eyes. "I'm positive that Atropos had nothing to do with this..."

"Sir...?!" Bradley pleaded desperately.

"Yes, well, it doesn't really matter, as it appears our friend Bradley here has already pressed the silent alarm, and those dozen or so burly and unfriendly armed security officer are a result of that." He grinned widely and waved at the guards, who just narrowed their eyes at him and picked up their step."So, Castiel, how do you want to let this play out? Should we allow them to do their jobs, or do what I suggested that we do in the first place, and just teleport Dean here back with us to Atlanta?"

"He says it makes him sick," Castiel grumbled under his breath. He eyed the guards wearily and shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry, Dean, but I'm afraid I have to agree with Crowley. We need to teleport you back with us."

Dean looked back and forth between the guards and Castiel, considering. He finally shrugged. "I should've stayed back at the Resistance...ok. Fine. Crap. Do it."

"Maggie, _what are they talking abou_...!?" Brad began to ask. Then Castiel, Crowley and Dean promptly disappeared into thin air.

He looked up at the now very confused airport security personnel, and his smile faded again, knowing that the rest of his shift was about to become a bit more interesting than he usually preferred.

* * *

They materialized in front of Crowley's office building on Peachtree in Atlanta, Dean looking slightly green.

Crowley looked back and smiled. "See? The easy way. Now we just have to get ahold of my secretary and find out what happened with my Gold Card. And maybe get a much deserved glass of Scotch that I have stashed for just such an occasion. Not exactly in that order, mind you." He smiled and walked forward.

And snapped the yellow police tape surrounding the building.

He bent down and picked it up, looking confused.

"Uh, Crowley?" Dean said. Crowley looked up at him, saw the look on his face, and closed his eyes.

"Oh, this isn't going to be good..." he muttered, turning around slowly to look at the building.

His gaze went up, taking in the blackened and ruined girders of the office, stretching up into the sky.

"Are...you...SERIOUS?!" Crowley screamed. "She sent us back to the point to where my building has _already burned down_?! A week before would have been...oh...I don't know... _too much to ask for_?!"

"Actually, it doesn't work like that," Castiel muttered, moving past the tape and looking up at the wreck of the building. "The dimensions that she merged just had elements of their original aspects in them, like a blueprint for the whole. This just happened to be one of the details in that blueprint. The point in time wasn't really a factor."

"Well, my entire building is burned down. I have no Headquarters. I _miss_ my Headquarters, Castiel. The Resistance, pardon my French, is a _frikking dump_. And more to the point, no Scotch." Crowley sighed loudly in exasperation and brushed off his sleeves. "Well, at least that explains the detectives walking over here."

"The...the what?" Castiel asked, narrowing his eyes. He turned around and saw a few police officers walking in their direction, flanking two men with shields clipped to their belts.

"That also explains the Gold Card. There are probably several agencies wanting answers from me about a major skyscraper in downtown Atlanta burning itself down to the core."

To his credit, Crowley didn't complain or try to fight when they arrested him.

"I hope they're having more luck back at the Resistance."

* * *

"No...way!" Sarah bellowed, kicking at Gabriel with all she was worth. Gabriel grunted with effort and looked helplessly up at Robert and Angela.

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to help a fellow Archangel out here, would you?"

They exchanged an uncertain glance with each other and looked back at Gabriel apologetically.

"Yeah, I figured it'd be too much to ask," he grunted, maintaining his grip on Sarah's wrists.

"Well, honestly, can you blame us?" Angela asked, shrugging. "You just told us that we're going to have our powers taken away."

"You see? That's where you're wrong. They're not 'your powers'. They were never 'your powers' to begin with. You were born human. Lucifer and Michael stole those powers from a cambrion, mixed them in a blender with some other Angelic powers, and turned you all into their very own personal army." He glanced over at a side-door to the conference room as it opened as a hunter poked his head in tentatively. He nodded at Gabriel in affirmation.

"It's done."

"Thank Father for that," Gabriel huffed, moving Sarah closer to the door. She fought him as hard as she could, her feet scraping on the floor.

"I am NOT going to back to the way I was!" she hissed. "You CAN'T do this to me! I won't let you!"

"Actually, it doesn't work that way at all, " a soft voice said from the small room on the opposite side of the open door. "I just take it back. It was my power in the first place anyway. Therefore I don't need your permission to take it back."

Sarah looked up at the speaker, eyes wild.

" _Screw you_ , Jesse!"she roared, straining against Gabriel's hold, her flying around her head. "You don't deserve it! You never did!"

Jesse stood up from where he was seated behind a long table. Trevor lay on it, unconscious. His chest moved gently up and down and he snored a bit. Two hunters picked him up from under his arms and by his legs and carried him out and further into the main hanger. Sarah watched in horror.

"You stupid, pathetic bastard!1 I'll _kill_ you!" she shouted as Gabriel struggled to move her into the room.

Jesse looked down at the empty table, then back up at Sarah. "No, your killing days are done, Sarah."

Gabriel shot an exhausted glance at Robert and Angela, and shut the door with his foot.

Robert and Angela stared open-mouthed at the door, then looked at each other again meaningfully.

* * *

The Roman tapped his fingers lightly on a swirling table top, that wasn't _actually quite_ a table top, just a seemingly solid service he had been able to conjure up. Another of an endless stream of manifested Old Ones was reporting to him.

But he had heard this report before. A thousand times at least.

"We can find no trace of Life, Master Cartaphilus. Anywhere. They are gone."

"Keep your opinions to yourself, creature," Cartaphilus spat. "They are _somewhere_. We just haven't found them yet."

The Old one _shifted_ under it's skin, it's mouth pulled back in a horrific facsimile of a smile.

"The Universe is ours."

"Is it now?" Cartaphilus purred. "Tell me, if there indeed was no Life anywhere out there in that vast nothingness that you call home, then why are you still manifesting as physical beings? Why am I able to even speak with you? Shouldn't you be able to just go back to 'the nothingness', or the 'void' or whatever you call it? All peace and quiet?" _Are you really that_ clueless, _so non-analytical_ , he thought to himself. _Only see what is in front of you, and nothing else_. No wonder you lost the War of Creation. "No," he continued, "there is Order out there somewhere, Old One. Order that is balancing things."

The creature bristled. Cartaphilus smiled at the all too humanlike gesture. "You mock us."

"Not in the slightest, I was simply putting a question to the facts of the matter. I want them gone as much as you do, because, believe me, I am having no fun here."

"What can we do, then, Roman?" the monster asked, leaning in, it's black eyes gleaming, drool collecting under it's lips. "Where can we find them?"

Cartaphilus narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists. "If I knew that, I wouldn't have to _keep having you search for them_ , now would I?" he growled between clenched teeth. "So stop wasting my time with pointless questions and find them!"

The creature glared at him for a time, then, almost silently, blended into the shadows swirling around them. Cartaphilus looked around him, rage building.

There was no peace for him either. _They_ had hidden themselves away. Someplace safe. Someplace secure, and trapped _him_ here, undying and unfulfilled, his revenge, horribly, _agonizingly_ incomplete.

He opened and eyes and looked down at his clenched fist, at the blood from where his nails had pierced his own palms.

"Damn them..." he whispered into the Dark. "Damn them all..."

* * *

Cain looked up wearily when the door to his cell opened.

"Crowley? Is that you again?" he squinted at the frame in the shadows. "What happened out there?"

The figure let out a huff. "Man, is _that_ ever a long story..."

Cain squinted harder. "I know you, I think. You were one of the Heralds. I watched your shenanigans in Baltimore. Zombies. Nice. Real nice. How many people did you end up killing kid?"

The shadow rocked back a bit as if struck, hesitating. "Yeah...yeah...nah, you're right," Leon answered, nodding his head slowly. "I got that coming."

Cain tilted his head. "What are you doing here kid?"

Leon shrugged, moving a bit closer into the room - but not _too_ close. "I think I need your help, if you're asking."

Cain raised his eyebrows.

" _My_ help? Didn't you hear, kid...?" he leaned forward in his shackles dramatically. "I'm _dangerous_."

Leon considered him and then shook his head. "Man, after the crap that's been goin' down here, I don't even know what that means anymore."

"You should actually pay attention to that little detail, if you want my opinion on that. It could save your life someday." Cain waited for a response, and receiving none, sighed and leaned his head back. "So, you need my help. Why?"

"Nah," Leon answered, holding up a finger and meeting Cain's eyes. "I said that I _think_ that I need your help. I'm already having second thoughts about that."

"Good instincts," Cain answered steadily.

"Whatever, man," Leon answered, turning around briskly and stepping back out of the door. "You wanna be all bad, you can stay down here."

He had almost closed the door when Cain muttered, "OK, fine. Come back in here."

Leon hesitated, turning his head slightly back around, one eyebrow raised a bit in question.

"You know who I am...what I can do...what I'm capable of doing, and you _still_ want my help? And, if I understand you correctly, that entails me getting out of this prison cell?"

Leon nodded. "Yeah, that's about the size of it."

"Intriguing." He let out a breath. "You must be in serious trouble, kid."

"Leon, not 'kid', if you please."

Cain smiled. "Leon. OK. You have me hooked. What's the catch?"

Leon turned back around and met Cain's eyes, not flinching away.

"You can sense power on Angels and Demons, right? I overheard Castiel and Crowley saying that you were one of the most powerful trackers in the world for that."

Cain blinked slowly, considering. "Yes...that's correct."

Leon nodded. "We lost a couple of 'em."

Cain raised his eyebrows. "I'm afraid I'll be needing some more details, Leon. Who is 'We'?, and who is 'Em'?'

Leon grimaced. "Two of the Heralds. Gabriel...he thought they were cooperating, playing along, right? He was concentrating on getting one of them that...wasn't playing along, in to meet Jesse..."

"'Meet' Jesse?", Cain smiled knowingly.

Leon let out a breath. "Yeah...so, he was taking his power back from them."

"Sensible strategy. Go on."

Leon shrugged. "Anyway, he left them alone for like, less than a minute. When he came back out, they'd bailed."

Cain narrowed his eyes. "Huh."

Leon looked confused. "'Huh'?, that's all you got? Whatd'ya mean by 'huh'?"

Cain watched him carefully before answering. "I'm wondering why _you're_ in here talking to me instead of Gabriel."

Leon shifted uncomfortably. "Because he don't know them - Robert, Angela. They're allright, man...good people, even after the power. He don't know them, and..."

Cain nodded. "I see. They're friends of yours, and Gabriel is sicking the dogs on them."

Leon watched him back for a few seconds silently, then nodded his head in affirmation.

Cain sighed. "Unfortunately, Leon, I think I feel the need to be completely honest with you, everything that I mentioned before is true. I am much, much more dangerous - to your friends as well - than anything that Gabriel can come up with. Why send _me_ after them?"

Leon shifted again under Cain's careful scrutiny. "Because you'll find them faster. And if I understood Castiel and Crowley correctly , much, much faster. And...look, I'm going with you. I can...no, I _know_ that I can convince them to come back without any trouble.

Cain smiled benignly, then looked down at the ground sadly. "It's your decision." He raised his blue eyes to Leon's, fixing them with a steely gaze. "I'm not going to pretend that I don't want out of here. I am also making no promises to return here like a good little boy when all of this is done. I tried to warn Crowley about the Roman the last time that we had a little talk, and he chose to ignore me. Judging by the noises that I've heard coming in here from all over the place for the last week or so, I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that not taking that advice cost him. Cost everyone." He waited until he saw the confirmation of that guess in Leon's eyes before continuing with a nod. "I know that the Mark that I'm carrying is the key to the Gate, and having an idea of where I am and what I'm up to might seem like a good idea to the people that _think_ that they're running things around here, but I'm sorry to say that I feel inclined to disagree. I've managed to stay hidden away from the Powers-that-Be for a very long time until Crowley and Dean Winchester took it upon themselves to root me out. If it's all the same for all parties involved in _my_ life, I'd like to go back to staying out of everyone's way, and protecting the Mark the way that _I_ see fit. It's my burden, and my call." He watched Leon carefully for any sign, then nodded to himself. "Good, just so we're clear. Also, I call the shots out there, Leon. Are we clear on that as well?"

Leon waited with his arms folded, then finally gave Cain a stiff nod.

"Good. Then let's get me out of here, shall we?"


	2. Interrogations

**Interrogations**

"It wasn't a terrorist attack. Nor was it insurance fraud," Crowley muttered into the crook of his arm, where his head rested on the cold wooden police table. "I was the one that was attacked. Why can't you get that through your thick heads?"

"You're a building contractor and insurance salesman," the Detective - Simms was his name, Crowley remembered - the one with the annoying penchant for repeating the same things over and over again in the form of questions...as if reality itself were under scrutiny. Crowley smirked involuntarily and huffed out a chuckle into his suit sleeve at that thought. That actually wasn't so far off from the truth, a shaky reality. He looked up wearily and met Detective Simms eyes. They were narrow and baggy, the sign of a man that had spent at least twenty years working under shabby fluorescent lights. His thin frame, wind-blown thinning hair and rumpled suit also spoke of a person that had far too little free time on his hands for such trivialities as personal health or hygiene.

"For the fiftieth or so time, Detective; yes, I sell construction plans and insurance."

"And you say that you were attacked."

"Yes. Again. For the fiftieth or so time. I do so enjoy repeating myself."

Simms continued to glare at Crowley, uninterested in a way, but scrutiny was somehow written all over his face, like a cat pretending not to notice the string their owner was desperately trying to get them to play when all they wanted to do was take a nap.

"Do you see our problem here Mr. Crowley?" the other Detective – Rowlins – asked. Rowlins was a bright faced and cheerful guy somewhere in his mid-forties with a Ken-doll sandy blond haircut, a tan and wrinkles from too much smiling. The forced kind.

"For the record once again...if there is one...just 'Crowley', thank you."

"No first name?"

"Again. No," Crowley, his patience wearing even thinner than the razor-thin veneer that it had been reduced to over the last hour, clasped his hands in front of him and beamed up artificially at the smiling Detective, making an obvious attacking attempt to outdo the fake smile he was being served. To his satisfaction, Detective Ken-doll noticed, and the smile dropped down a bit.

"Hmf," Detective Simms huffed, rubbing his chin. "Just Crowley."

"Yes."

"Like that guy...what was his name...Aleister Crowley. That was it. Aleister Crowley. Into Voodoo or some stuff. You related?"

"No, to your direct question, Detective. I am not related to the aforementioned Aleister Crowley. But my name is, indeed, also Crowley, in answer to your unasked question," Crowley answered, smiling pleasantly at Simms. "Now, are you ready to answer my question?"

Simms frowned. "You had a question."

Crowley admired the statement that was once again not quite a question. It was an art form that the Detective had mastered like Picasso.

"Yes, Detectives. In fact, it is the question that I wanted answered from the very beginning. Why did your department take the initiative to lock down all of my personal financial resources, despite the fact that you have absolutely no evidence whatsoever of my being involved in the incident at my office building?"

"You sure you don't want a lawyer?" Ken-doll asked.

"Amazing. Truly. Despite my repeating this a million times or so by now, no, I do not want a lawyer. Not only am I a lawyer myself, but I am not as stupid as most of them."

"How is that?"

"I didn't sell my soul to win any cases or get success. Or to pass the board."

Rowlins' smile dropped completely into confusion at that. "Sell...what are you talking about Mr. Crowley?"

"Just Crowley. And never mind," Crowley let out a deep sigh. "So, I think we've had enough fun here. You are stonewalling me. I will just have to sue your entire department into oblivion. Literally." He stretched and stood up.

"You think that you're going somewhere," Simms said.

""Very astute," Crowley eyed him sideways. "Because since I have not been charged with a crime, or even accused of one, you have no grounds to hold me."

Simms nodded. "Patriot Act. Sit down."

Crowley cocked his head quizzically. "You mean the part about being able to hold someone for 72 hours without charging them? Applicable for suspected terrorism." He narrowed his eyes. "Better make that official, detective, or I'll hold you _personally_ responsible in my counter-suit. So is that it then? Is this now officially a terrorism investigation?" Crowley raised his eyebrows. He knew damned good and well they had no evidence to support this – no explosive material, no apparent cause of the damage. He smiled as he saw Simms look away in frustration, jiggling his keys in his pocket.

"Look, I just want my accounts unfrozen," Crowley said. "Then you two can get on with sorting out the truth – which is that my office was attacked by unknown forces, burned to the ground, and then those same two men, unfortunately, took it out on the responding officers. I understand how that could be upsetting, but gentlemen, I really can't point you in any direction."

Simms looked confused and looked over at Rowlins, who returned the confused gaze. "Um...excuse me...? What was that? _What_ attack on our officers?"

Crowley hesitated, his mind going back. Michael and Lucifer, after finishing with his office, had gone into the street and blew away close to a hundred first responders...how could these two not know that...?

He groaned. In _his_ reality...

Crowley sat back down and rubbed his forehead.

"Let me guess. In your version of events, there were no men seen going into my building en masse, no reports of a battle going on up there on the 13th floor, and finally no two mysterious figures coming out and blasting away at firemen and police. Am I correct?"

"Ummm... _what_?" Rowlins practically sputtered. "Are you...?" He glanced at Simms. "Do we need to run a tox-screen? Is he on something?" He turned and glared back at Crowley. "Are you _on something_!?"

Crowley sighed. "So, it was just an unexplained fire, am I right?"

"Yes!", both Simms and Rowlins responded in tandem.

"And I am here because it looks like textbook industrial insurance fraud, am I once again correct?"

"Yes Mr. Crowley, " Rowlins replied, opening up a report and flipping through some pages. "You were the last one seen entering the building, then there was a massive fire, bringing down the entire structure. The Feds froze your accounts after you disappeared, and there were no bodies found, what _was_ all that stuff about an attack?"

Crowley blinked and shook his head. "So, in this reality, who in the hell burned down my building?"

Simms blinked slowly and leaned in.

"We ask the questions here. You understand that."

Crowley groaned and put his head back down in his arm.

* * *

 _Earlier._

Lucifer watched them cart off Crowley and looked back up at the shell of his office building, smirking in satisfaction.

It was juvenile and pure overkill to do just the day before after he had found out that the Souls of Hell were not being stored anywhere on the premises...juvenile and pure overkill.

In other words, exactly his style.

He hid himself before Castiel and Dean turned and saw him. He watched Castiel carefully.

Had it taken? Had Father's archaic Trial-by-Combat rule worked? Was Castiel an Archangel now?

He squinted, trying to get a read on his power. But _something_...he frowned. It was 'blurry', for lack of a better word. Something else was going on with Castiel.

Lucifer sighed and began to walk away in the opposite direction. He really needed this to take. _Someday_ , he thought, _Castiel will thank me. Or curse me. One or the other_.

He flew, and in less than two seconds, with a gentle rush of wings in the air, he was standing outside the other one of Crowley's hideouts, the so-called Resistance. He frowned. This one was harder to break into. It was warded. Well, well warded. He was considering just breaking in physically when the door to one of the side exits opened on it's own.

Lucifer blinked in genuine shock and surprise when he saw his ex-Herald Leon walk out.

With Cain.

 _What in the_...?

Cain's head immediately whipped directly in the direction that Lucifer was standing in a small cluster of abandoned industrial junk out of sight. He leaned over and whispered something to Leon, and pointed. Leon looked up and his eyes went wide. Lucifer could well understand his reaction.

Cain squared his shoulders and strode towards Lucifer.

Lucifer stood up. There was no point in hiding from the ex-Captain of Hell's Knights.

Cain moved to within a few feet and stopped, head tilting. He nodded.

"Boss. Long time no see."

Lucifer nodded back and then raised his chin to Leon, who was standing much further away.

"Out for a little stroll, you two?"

"What are you doing here?" Leon called back, not moving any closer. "Last I heard, you were still healin' up from that ass-whuppin' Castiel put on you."

Cain raised his eyebrows at Lucifer. Lucifer met his eyes, not blinking.

"The old Archangel clause?" Cain asked.

Lucifer nodded.

"That still work?"

Lucifer shrugged. "With 'Judah' in the driver's seat...I think the probability is high. He's a warrior. The old ways are probably intact. Not so much with 'Chuck', and definitely not with 'Charlie'."

"'Charlie'?"

"You never met her. Sometimes Father is a Mother."

Cain shook his head. "Anyway. That was smart with what you did with Castiel. The Roman will never see that coming."

Lucifer smiled. " _If_ it took. I can't tell. There's something strange about Castiel's energy signature. I think Father still has a long game playing."

Cains shook his head grimly. "Way I hear it from the last few months, I would tend to disagree. This looks like a short game. A very short one. Which means 'Judah' or The Roman will be coming for me and you soon to bring down the Gate."

Lucifer nodded. "I've been trying to take precautions. Take Castiel, for example."

"Always defying the will of God, aren't you, Boss?"

"When He's wrong, yes."

Cain smiled tightly and met Lucifer's gaze. "And who's the judge of that? You?"

"Seems to be my job to call out the BS," Lucifer smiled back. "So, what's the excursion for?"

Cain shrugged. "Leon here wants to find his friends before Gabriel does."

Lucifer frowned and leaned around Cain. "What friends would that be, Leon?"

Leon looked away. Lucifer leaned back to Cain.

"Heralds? They got them back, it seems. And they escaped."

Cain nodded.

Lucifer let out a breath. "Jesse. They've been returning his power to him. With me walking the earth, it makes him pretty much the most powerful thing around – pure human soul combined with the power of Heaven and Hell. Yeah, Gabriel is going to tear the planet apart trying to get the Heralds back." He looked off at the building, thinking.

Cain followed his gaze, "You never answered my friend here. Why are you here?"

Lucifer smiled.

"Something in particular that you want in there?" Cain asked pointedly.

Lucifer sighed. "Maybe. Maybe not. Likely, knowing Crowley."

"Care to let us know?"

Lucifer frowned, considering. "No. Sorry. This one is mine." He looked up at Cain and clasped him on his shoulder. "You were my first. And my greatest. I know that we seldom saw eye to eye, but I want you to understand something, Cain, it was that _independence_ that I valued in you, sought to forge in you,"

Cain looked at Lucifer's hand and frowned. Lucifer slowly removed it, looking disappointed.

"At the cost of my _brother_...and my _soul_."

Lucifer straightened up, almost defiantly. "I never made you kill your brother, Cain. That was you."

Cain met his eyes. "I wonder...I always wondered...how much did you stir my thoughts...how many seeds did you plant there...? How many whispers in the dark?"

Lucifer watched him silently for a long moment.

"I wish you luck in your search," Lucifer finally said quietly.

"And in yours," Cain replied after a moment. And with that, he gestured for Leon to follow. The both moved on towards Los Angles in the near distance, Lucifer watching stoically.

He turned his eyes back to the Resistance once they were gone.

 _So, Jesse has some power back – but he isn't_ fully _powered up yet_ , he mused.

How... _interesting_.


	3. Reunions

**Reunions**

Cartaphilus lay in bed, eyes open, staring into the swirling blackness, sleepless, restless.

Angry.

 _How_? His mind kept spinning back around to the question. _How had they escaped him_? _How had they hidden themselves so thoroughly_? Here he was, abandoned, lost, only the manifestations of the madness of his own mind whispering to him from the dark.

The Old Ones. The Outer Gods. The Darkness in whole – his only companions.

 _How_?

He frowned, his hands clenching and unclenching on the rough woolen blanket that he had manifested to guard against the cold, a cold that was less physical than mental, a cold born of being away from the sun and the earth...

He sat bolt upright.

 _How_... _how had he been such a_ fool _for so long_?

His legs swung out into the swirling mist, a floor forming instantly under his feet. He flipped his cloak on over his shoulder, donned his sword and boots and strode out into the dark, gathering his will.

He needed an Old One. A powerful one. A very, very powerful one.

He closed his eyes, his mind focusing, manifesting, gathering the unorganized chaos around him. Shaping it, calling it forward.

He blinked his eyes open.

He stood on a twilight beach. The sky was still the realm of the Old ones – formless, starless and infinite, but the beach was manifest. The waves lapped up cool onto his feet, the salty water soaking into his boots and working it's way between his toes. He raised his chin to the churning waves.

 _Something_ moved there. Something massive and un-still and malevolent beyond mortal words.

He watched dark, leathery, slick forms break the surface of those white-capped waves, sliding in and out, staying just below the surface, occasionally granting him a glimpse of a limb or form.

Finally, a round shape the size of the Roman Colosseum itself began to rise from the water a few hundred meters from the shoreline, the waves running off of it's head like waterfalls, crashing back to rejoin the ocean below, making a sound like a thunderstorm.

Tentacles hung from it's lower jaw, writing and dripping. Black eyes fixated on the tiny Roman standing there in front of it, a tiny black speck on the sandy beach, A clawed hand rose from the depths, slamming down on that beach, sending up sprays of dirt and mud into the air. It braced itself against this arm and rose higher into the air, it's back and leathery, bat-like wings spreading out behind it and blotting out the entire horizon.

It rose. Higher and higher into the air until, even crouched over towards the Roman in a pose almost reminiscent of a bow, it stood higher than any castle fortification, dwarfing the tiny Roman, it's shadows everywhere, a deep groan coming from it's belly like a hunger that could never be satisfied, the water running off of it in rivers, the shifting tentacles where it's mouth should have been crawling and twisting over each other in a maddening dance.

Cartaphilus smiled.

"That will do..." he whispered to himself.

"Oh mighty Cthulhu!" he roared triumphantly into the night air.

The wind and roaring waves and the crashing of surf seemed to stop – the world around the tableau became silent, waiting.

The Beast leaned forward, lowering it's head as it did, until it nearly rested on the beach in front of the Roman, the appendages of it's maw slapping at the sand, sending up silent gusts and sprays of sand in all directions.

" _What do you want with me_?" it asked simply, it's voice vibrating the bones of the Roman, making him feel as if he would fly apart.

Despite himself, Cartaphilus flinched away. The sheer size of the creature was enough to send a mind reeling away in terror. He quickly recovered, taking a deep breath. He had nothing to lose in any case. He had been cursed. Cursed by God Himself for a millennia.

 _Cursed_...he thought, lip curling into a smile. And that very punishment would be the instrument of his escape. God's punishment would be his savior.

There was nothing left to be afraid of.

Nothing except not achieving his goal. Nothing except making Him _suffer_ at his hands.

"You, great Cthulhu, have slept in the waves before the beginning of time itself, am I right in saying so?" Cartaphilus asked, no longer yelling, a cold, calculating calm taking over.

There was another deep rumbling. The great wet, dark eyes swiveled towards Cartaphilus , narrowing.

" _I slept_ ," it rumbled. " _Time_... _time has no meaning to Us_... _I am. I slept_. _Now there is_...you," it said, contempt evident in it's voice. " _You who awaken me, give me form_." It shuddered, the movement making the ground shake. " _For what purpose_? _To ask me riddles_?"

The Roman bowed deeply. "Apologies, you are correct. I will come to the point, Great One. I would only ask how would one such as you be summoned into the realm of man? How can one such as you be made manifest on the Earth?"

Cthulhu's eyes narrowed further, almost in confusion. " _Manifest_? _You speak of spells that could be bring me forth_?" It shook it's head. " _I am always near. I must only be awakened from my slumber. Then can I stride through the Darkness and the endless stars to walk the earth. It is a small thing for one such as I_."

The Roman licked his lips in excitement. He was _right_. He had known it. It could be no other way.

"So, you must only awaken, then the earth is open to you? But this sleep...how was it done to you? Why must you sleep?"

" _A spell_ ," Cthulhu grumbled. " _Magic of the Lightbringer. I am so Defined. I must always sleep until the spell is broken_. _Such is the way that God works_."

Cartaphilus' smile broadened. _Clever little witches_...

"So, if I can awaken you, you can go to the Earth, and take me along with you?"

Cthulhu's face twisted. If Cartaphilus didn't know any better, he would have sworn it was a _smile_.

" _Only if you yourself are awake, little Roman_."

Cartaphilus shuddered in triumph. He knew it. It was God's _Word_ , His _Law_. It could _never_ be broken, not by the Fates or the meddling witches. Never.

 _Free to roam the Earth until the End of all Time_...

The fact of the matter was that they _couldn't_ have imprisoned him anywhere. Not physically. That would be against God's Word. He had demonstrated that to them when they had held him captive, and the clever little witches had used that knowledge against him. They hadn't imprisoned his body...

"And am I sleeping now? Is this a dream?" he practically whispered.

The Beast leaned closer, the stench of the ancient ocean overwhelming Cartaphilus' nostrils.

" _Yes_. _And of course it is_..."

….they had imprisoned his mind...

A single tear of joy, or madness, or the unholy combination of both ran down the Roman's cheek. It mirrored perversely the water running away from the Old One's massive face.

"And can the Great Cthulhu awaken me? Is he powerful enough?"

Cthulhu's arm straightened, and the Creature rose, towering to it's full height, looking down at Cartaphilus with what looked like...

…..amusement.

" _For a race so focused on time, Roman, you waste so much of it_..." it rumbled.

The world exploded.

Cartaphilus' breath was frozen in his chest. He felt dizzy and nauseous. He let out a gagging, ragged cough, his hand clenching and unclenching in the... _sand_...it was _real sand_...he could truly feel it, it was no figment, no nightmarish facsimile. The reality of the waking world nearly overwhelming his senses.

His eyes opened, red, swollen, painful. He saw a darkened beach in front of him, a beach almost a match to the one where he had been 'standing' with the Old One in his dream. He gazed out into the waves, half expecting to see massive limbs rolling in the surf, but was more than relieved to see that they weren't... He swiveled his head around, his neck stiff and painful.

He saw a sign in the ground.

'Malibu Surfrider Beach', it read, it's metal form and lettering old, battered, scratched and dented.

It was beautiful.

He leaned his head back down, relaxing his sore muscles, gathering strength back into them.

"A spell..." he whispered to himself. "A spell to imprison me."

He smiled and sat up, staring out at the dark waves.

"A spell to imprison you as well, Great One. Let me see what I can do to remedy that."

* * *

Dean took a sip from his mug and made a face.

"Oh man, that is _terrible_ ," he grumbled, walking over to the small table and putting his mug down. He slammed down the other plastic bottle that he had been carrying down on the table and slid it across to Castiel, who was already seated there. "Sure you don't want any?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

Castiel smiled and took the bottle of Diet Coke, twisting off the cap and eyeing Dean's coffee warily. "No thanks, I'll think I'll stick with my pop."

" _Soda_..." Dean exclaimed, eyes widening. "Dude, you're in frigging _Atlanta_. If they hear you calling a soda 'pop', they'll hunt you down with torches and pitchforks."

Castiel frowned a took a big swig, shaking his head. "Sometimes..."

Dean returned the frown. "'Sometimes' what?"

Castiel grimaced. "Nothing. It's just that...sometimes I get it when the other Angels call humans 'petty'."

Dean looked genuinely taken aback. "Hey now, Cas, I happen to be a big believer in following local traditions and customs. For example..." He took the chocolate doughnut that had been sitting on the table and dipped it into the coffee, drawing it out and taking a bite while it dripped. "Mmmmmhh...now _that_...that is a great Southern tradition."

Castiel frowned. "I think I've seen people do that all over the place, Dean."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "You sure about that?"

"Pretty sure. I was in every Biggerson's in the United States, Mexico, Canada and Guam. I remember seeing them doing it there too."

"Huh," Dean grumbled, chewing thoughtfully. "Still," he said, waving the half-eaten doughnut vigorously at Castiel, crumbs falling off of it into his coffee, "don't turn into a pretentious dick on me, Cas. I thought you were all about trying to get closer to humanity, not judging it."

Castiel nodded and took another sip, looking around the small, shabby police waiting room where they had been stuck for hours waiting for them to get finished questioning Crowley. It had a few worn-out, cracked fake-leather couches and chairs arranged haphazardly around and a few 'motivational' anti-crime posters and police recruitment advertisements taped onto the thickly painted brick walls. A TV fastened to a dingy metal bracket in one of the room's upper corners droned on with the local news, the '11 Alive' logo featured prominently in the corner of the screen. And of course, there was the ancient coffee maker and vending machine, practically lurking along the far side of the room across from the one window facing the parking lot.

"I know. It's places like this that make me...question things." Castiel frowned and leaned forward conspiratorially. "Besides, there are much bigger things to worry about than local doughnut traditions."

Dean smiled and finished off the doughnut, licking his fingers. "Yeah, like, how about we start with, oh I dunno...where the hell Sammy is, for example?"

Castiel sighed and leaned back, looking away. "Dean, it's Lucifer..."

"Yeah I _know_ that ..."

"And the Resistance said he disappeared..."

"All the more reason to get out there pronto and get him to let go of Sam..."

Castiel shook his head impatiently. "No, Dean, _Lucifer._..."

""I said _I know_ ," Dean answered, his voice rising.

"No, Dean, you don't!" Castiel shot back, glaring, his hand slapping the table. "Do you have any _idea_ what it was like for me looking at you two on TV everyday after they...took you? There was _nothing there_ , Dean..." he leaned forward. "You were _gone_ , do you understand? No Dean, no Sam. Gone. Not even a trace. Just _them_ , Dean...just Michael and Lucifer. You were..."he looked away and let out a weary breath. "You were dead, Dean. Do you understand? And until we can figure out a way to get him to leave your brother, it _isn't Sam_ , Dean...it's Lucifer, OK?"

Dean watched him for a long time, then nodded slightly.

"Ok. Ok man, I get it. But you wanna know something, Cas?" Castiel looked back towards him. "I was living that nightmare, you know? I saw everything that that sonuvabitch did and couldn't do a damn thing about it. You say that we weren't there? I got news for you, Cas, I was. And it was one long, horrible, gut-spilling nightmare. And now Sammy is still out there living it." He leaned over the table towards Castiel on his elbows. "And I can't let that be. You know damned well that I can't. So, you can call him whatever you want to – Lucifer or Sammy – makes no difference to me anymore. I'm still going to find him and get my brother back, you get me?"

Castiel watched Dean and finally relented with a nod. "I get you, Dean. I...I'm sorry. And I'll be glad to help." He raised the bottle to his lips and frowned. "I'm out of pop..." he grumbled. "Oh...no...right...I meant 'soda'..." He smiled and raised his eyebrows.

Dean smiled back and shrugged, taking a sip of his crumb-filled coffee.

"Nope, you just changed my mind, Cas. I guess it don't matter what you call it. As long as it's still the same damned thing."

The door opened and an officer peeked in.

"Hey. They're done. You can take your friend now," he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder and moving back into the hall.

Castiel eyed Dean and then reached out and gave him a large bear-hug. Dean patted him on the back.

"It's good to have you back," Castiel muttered.

"Yeah...yeah, I missed you too, pal," Dean answered. They broke apart and Dean chucked Castiel playfully on the shoulder, grinning. "C'mon, let's get your partner out of here."

"He's not my partner..." Castiel grumbled. "We've been forced into this."

"You know what? Good. It's doing both of you world's of good," Dean answered amiably.

"We've wrecked the entire world...at least twice," Castiel answered, confused.

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, well. Seems like that's part of the job, Cas. The fact that we're all still here breathing and drinking bad coffee means that you're doing something right."

Castiel watched Dean walk down the hall to meet Crowley, who was coming out of the interrogation room looking angrier than he had going in, which was saying something.

"Partners..." he muttered, shrugging in his trenchcoat and going down the hall to catch up.


	4. Nice to See You, Too

**Nice to See You, Too**

"And?" Castiel asked as Crowley joined them in the small passageway leading to the exit from the police station.

"Did not go as expected," Crowley answered quickly, straightening his sleeves.

"Meaning what?"

Crowley sighed. "Meaning that they have handed the entire sordid affair over to the insurance investigators, because they can't prove that I had anything to do with the explosion. They will snoop, dust, measure and reconstruct, and in the end, no matter what they actually find, they will all definitively agree not to pay me a quarter of what I'm owed because somehow I forgot to update some safety device somewhere or someplace." He paused, rubbing his chin. "I would still like to know _how_ the damned office actually exploded, though..."

Castiel narrowed his eyes. "What – it wasn't Michael, Lucifer and his demons?"

"Nope," Crowley grunted. "Not in this reality. In this one, it just blew up...taking literally everything I own with it."

"So...you're _broke_?" Dean asked, eyebrows raised.

Crowley chuckled and shook his head as he pushed through the rotating door and walked out into the street. "In this persona, yes. In fact, quite a bit more than broke once they hand me the bill for the cleanup and the cost of their investigation. Fortunately for me, Crowley Ferguson, highway planning mogul and construction insurance baron, will be taking a permanent trip."

Dean frowned. "Where?"

"Absolutely nowhere, my good Mr. Winchester. Crowley Ferguson is dead to me and to the rest of the world as well. Time to move on to another one...record producer or something. That was always one of my favorites."

They fell into step with one another down the busy Atlanta sidewalk, dodging tourists that were desperately trying to find the opening times of the Coca-Cola museum.

"Well, that's fine," Dean said as they rounded a corner, heading for a Chase Bank. "Because like I told Cas back there, it's nothing but mission: Find Sam for me, 24-7 until we get him back."

"Have fun with that," Crowley muttered, walking into the bank and getting in line for the nest available teller.

"What, you don't feel like helping?"

Crowley raised an eyebrow and gave Dean a half-smile.

"No. I don't, actually. Chasing down and cornering Lucifer for the exclusive purpose of making him surrender his vessel is not what I consider a healthy thing to do."

The woman in front of them in line turned her head and gave them all a confused frown.

"Sorry. Rehearsing for a play. We're actors," Crowley smiled pleasantly, giving her a half bow. The woman turned back around, shaking her head slowly.

"Crowley, it's our mission to..." Castiel started.

Crowley held up a hand, closing is eyes and putting his head down. "No no no, Castiel, if I may stop you right there, our 'mission', as you so put it, was to stop the Angel and Demon, who turned out to be Lucifer and Michael, thus regaining Heaven and Hell for you and I. It was specifically not, I repeat – _not_ – to have anything to do with the Winchesters. Because, if...for example...we had followed that simple part of the initial instructions... _none of this would have happened in the first place_!" Crowley finished, his voice rising and his eyes opening, glaring at Dean.

"Hey, wait a minute there..." Dean protested.

"No, Your brother is where he is because you two _had_ to just get involved. _Again_. So, no, Dean, no 'waitaminutehere' is going to happen. I want things back the way they were..."

"You mean thrown in prison while Rowena ruled Hell?" Castiel grunted.

Crowley smiled widely, his face an example of pure sarcastic indulgence. He turned his head slowly towards him and let out an annoyed huff.

"No, Choir-Boy. I meant getting back on track to getting my Kingdom back. Since Michael went and got himself annihilated for us, that only leaves Lucifer. Which, by the way, we will be finding and dealing with _on our own_..." he glanced back at Dean. "Sans Squirrel, get it?"

Dean looked at Castiel. "C'mon man, you gonna let him do this?"

Castiel hesitated.

"Great,"Dean muttered, his eyes opening wide in disbelief and obvious pain. "So _that's_ how it is, huh? After all that 'so good to have you back Dean' crap back there at the police station?" He lowered his head and ran his open palm over his mouth in frustration. "Just...yeah, great...nah, you know what? Fine. I get it. I'm not a total idiot. I heard Chuck's prophecy too. Do what you gotta do with your pal here, Cas."

"Dean..." Castiel began.

"Nah, it's fine, he's right, actually," Dean grunted roughly, shoving past them and out of the line. "But just remember something," he said halfway to the exit, as he turned and pointed at them. "I'm a better Hunter than _either_ of you two. And I'm gonna find Sammy first. And don't try to get in my way while I'm doing it either." Dean pivoted and stalked out, pulling the door open so violently that it rattled the glass, causing several customers to turn towards him in concern.

The women in front of them turned back around. "Excuse me, but what kind of a play is this, exactly?"

Crowley smiled. "You've seen Rent?" The lady nodded. "It's like that. With less singing."

* * *

"You want some?" Robert asked as he came through the door of the abandoned McMansion that he and Angela had 'procured' while it was being renovated. He held up two paper bags with 'The Varsity' written on them, it's red logo partially soaked through with whatever greasy food was packed inside.

Angela smiled. "I can't believe you still eat..." she said, walking over and taking one of the bags, opening it and frowning down while looking inside of it.

"Oh, no, I know we technically don't _have_ to anymore," Robert said, walking past her and dumping the contents onto the polished teak-wood dining room table. "But _come on_ ," he grinned maniacally at her, looking back up at her..."Chili dogs and onion rings here...how can you say no to that?"

Angela smiled back involuntarily and sighed, sitting down and carefully removing the contents of her own bag.

"Robert...do you...do you think...?"

Robert took a big bite out of the hot dog, chili dripping down his chin. He looked at her over chewing and shook his head, wiping it away with a napkin.

"Nope. We are not giving this back to Jesse, Angela. We've been over this."

She sighed. "But it isn't ours, Robert."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, I _know_ that. Can't do anything _but_ know that. There we were, enjoying a nice little ride on an indoor mall roller-coaster, and then 'Bam'!, those two ass-clowns practically rip our souls out and stuff this power into us. I wish I could say it wasn't mine, but you know what? I paid for this, Angela. I paid for it and fought for it and suffered for it, just like you did, I might add, and like it or not, it's a part of me now. Now Jesse wants to rip it right out again?" He shook his head and took another bite. "Do you think that once Jesse gets through with us that they'll care one little bit about what happens to us? Do you remember what's frikking out there, Angela? Those _things_ out there...?" He watched as she nodded weakly, looking a little green. "So when they come back – I want to be _ready_ , you know? " He shook his head. "Nope. We're collateral damage in the coming fight without our power. Helpless." He looked away and grimaced. "No thanks. I am in no hurry to end up lunch for those monsters."

Angela put down her hot dog and sighed. "Yeah, ok, I get you...but just listen, ok? What if...and I'm saying 'if' here... what _if_ Jesse's the best chance that we've got - the best chance that _anyone_ has got - for stopping those things? And keeping this power is just...I dunno...making everything worse?"

Robert frowned, then nodded. "I hear you, believe me, I hear you...but we don't know that, Angela. All we know is that we'll be left out there to die. That's the only thing we know for sure. At least this way, we have a fighting chance."

Angela frowned, remembering the titanic, skyscraper-sized monstrosities that had taken over New Eden.

"Robert...I don't think there's _any_ fighting what's coming."

Robert watched her, chewing on an onion ring. "Yeah...yeah...we're gonna need back up. Heavy back up if we want to make it through this. We're strong, sure, but we need more."

She looked back at him, doubtful.

"What did you have in mind?"

He grinned and took another big bite of his chili dog.

* * *

Lucifer studied the runes on the warehouse's side and was just about to give up getting in when he saw a side door was, curiously, suddenly ajar. He remembered examining that door just minutes earlier. It had been locked tight.

He cocked his head and looked around him, frowning in happy surprise. He half-tiptoed to the door and looked around again.

Nobody.

He shrugged and ducked quickly inside.

And found himself face-to-face with Death.

"Oh..." he smiled unhappily. "...it's _you_..."

Death smiled back. "Look what the cat dragged in...and here I thought the pizza delivery boy had chosen the wrong entrance again."

Lucifer's smile did not fade, but the crinkles on the sides of his eyes deepened. "Somehow I doubt that. What do you want, Horseman?"

Death cocked his head to the side. "Curious. One would think that you would want to avoid

mentioning that particular title. Especially to _me_."

Lucifer grinned. "Oh come on, are you still sour over that little summoning and binding spell? That was so eight years ago..."

Death just stared back.

Lucifer shrugged. "Allright...what'dya want from me? An apology?"

Death stiffened and smiled with a slight nod. "That would do. For starters."

Lucifer's smile finally dropped away. "Are you...are you... _serious_?"

"Completely."

Lucifer glared.

"Ok. Fine. I apologize... _Horseman_ ," he grunted through clenched teeth.

Death smiled humorously. "Apology accepted."

There was an uncomfortable silence. Lucifer found himself shifting his feet uncomfortably.

"Are you going to...um... _move_? Or was there something else that you wanted?"

"I'm waiting for someone. Now what are _you_ doing here, Morning Star?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"Ah...I see...it's a game then, is it? Good. I like games," Death practically purred. "Let's see...what could there possibly be here that would interest you...ah!" He frowned and shook his head. "Far too easy. You're here to take the young cambrion back under your dark wing, aren't you?"

Lucifer shrugged. "Got me. Can you let me pass now?"

Death smiled victoriously, then narrowed his eyes. "But...no...why would he trust you again...? Far too unlikely." He looked down and rubbed his chin. "Oh...now _here's_ a theory...could it be that you are here to attempt to forcibly take the power away from the young man?" He shook his head. "Oh dear. That would not work out so well, I fear."

Lucifer stared angrily. "And why not? It's my power that he's holding anyway. It's only increased when I'm on the Earth. And since I can wield Angelic and Demonic power now, I should be able to take it back any time I wish."

Death raised his eyebrows. "In theory. That's the catch, isn't it? Just a theory." He looked Lucifer up and down. "Why such a desperate move, Morning Star? Why are so obsessed with power? You're practically swimming in it." He stared and leaned closer. "Hmm. Or are you? Oh...now _that_ is rich..." Death grinned. "What happened to you, Fallen Angel?"

Lucifer grimaced, his fists balled at his sides. "None of your damned business is what happened to me."

"You've lost something... _several_ somethings if I had to guess...I heard about the incident in the Warehouse with Castiel. Did you transfer your power to him? An attempt to safeguard the Gate? Or to paint a target on his back,? Both are viable options for you, I suppose. But you had a backup plan..." He cocked his head, studying Lucifer. "Which also went awry...what a shame...the Souls of Hell, I assume?"

Lucifer stayed silent, fuming. " _Get out of my way_..." he growled at last.

"Or what?" Death answered immediately. "Even at your full power, you were no match for me. And this time there are no spell books for you to hide behind, Morning Star. If you attempt to take me unawares again, I may just reap you out of pure spite."

Lucifer hesitated, then, with an effort, relaxed his stance. "If my plan is so likely to fail, then why prevent me from trying?" Lucifer asked, trying another tactic.

Death shrugged. "I've already told you, I was waiting for someone."

"Who, the pizza delivery boy?" Lucifer smirked.

"No," said a voice behind Lucifer. He spun in alarm. _Who in the entire wide Universe had the ability to sneak up on_...? His eyes widened in stunned fear...

"Me," Judah said, staring daggers at Lucifer. "Hello son. I'm here for your Key."


	5. Thy Will Be Done

**Thy Will be Done...**

Geena closed the shutters tight, flipping the rusty lock closed. The howling of the unseasonable Santa Ana winds buffeted against the thin glass and rattled the cheap plywood shutters. She sighed. California houses were not built for any kind of weather protection. But since ninety-nine percent of the time every window and door was left wide open, she supposed the houses were supposed to be more like camping tents than sturdy fortresses anyway.

Her Siamese cat Mr. Meow-gi cried at her from his place on the tattered quilt strung over her guest chair. She smiled at him and scratched behind his ears. He leaned into the touch, purring, then promptly flattened his ears, growled and scampered off.

 _Cats_ , she thought to herself and shook her head. She went to the kitchen and picked up her warm cup of tea and shuffled in her fluffy houseshoes over to the living room couch, curling her legs up underneath her and picking up her Kindle. It was the weekend, there would be no beach today – time to get some serious fan-fiction reading in.

She was still going through her ever-expanding list of stories to read when she heard a heavy thump against her front door, causing her to frown and look up. She listened carefully, trying to hear over the ever-increasing howls of the rhythmic winds. She shrugged after hearing nothing and picked her Kindle back up.

There was promptly another thud against the door, harder this time, and the sound of something that sounded like scratching followed it.

Geena felt a small spike of alarm and stood up carefully. She got up slowly from the couch and walked over to the small computer desk in the corner and opened the cabinet next to it.

She pulled out the bottle of mace there and tucked it into her pajamas waistband in the small of her back. _Couldn't hurt to be too cautious_ , she told herself. It had been a few years since she had graduated from Berkeley, but the on-campus safety habits were still very much in the back of her mind, and while her neighborhood was safe, she considered herself a realist – she had talked to too many of her friends and fellow women students that had not had the foresight, and was determined not to let that happen to her.

She walked quietly to the door and put her ear against it, straining to hear more.

"Hello...?" she ventured loudly, seeing if it was someone out there on her porch. "In case you're wondering if it's a good idea to break in here, bud, just be aware that I'm armed, and my phone has 911 on speed-dial." She glanced over to the kitchen counter to her right, confirming that her smartphone was indeed in range. "So, if you know what's good for you, you'll cut your losses now and scram."

She heard a low, very human-like moan in response.

She frowned in confusion.

"Are you...are you hurt?" Her stomach knotted. Maybe a tree had fallen and hit someone...

There was another moan, then a low, pained man's voice.

"Please...I...I need help..."

She felt a twist of fear and looked over at her phone again. _This could be a trick_ , she thought. She darted over and picked up the phone and pulled up the contacts menu, keeping 911 on the screen.

"Allright, I'm opening the door, dude, but I got the police on standby, just sayin'..." She hesitated, waiting for an answer, but heard nothing.

Slowly, she undid the bolt lock and let the door open inwards.

A large man in a rumpled and stained white suit slumped into the entrance. Apparently he had been seated and leaning against her front door. He groaned and his unsupported head hit the marble floor, hard.

"Oh my god, are you ok?" she exclaimed, dropping to her knees as an uncontrolled wave of concern rushed over her. She turned the man's head over. His eyes flickered open, barely conscious. She looked at her phone and back at him. "Do you want me to call an ambulance? What happened?"

He raised his hand weakly to hers and managed to shake his head slightly, the motion making him squeeze his eyes shut in pain. "No..." he whispered weakly. "no...doctors...I just...I need to rest...can I rest here...?" His entire body spasmed slightly and he went limp.

Geena's eyes went wide and she shook him slightly. "Hey...hey! Wake up!" She bit her lip and set his head gently back down on the floor.

"Ok, screw this, I'm calling for help...," she muttered and hit 'dial' on her phone.

The screen immediately shuddered and went blank.

"The _hell_...?" she said, shaking the phone and trying to turn it back on. The battery icon flashed at her. Dead. "Oh ...oh that's just great...," she said, looking back down at the man on the floor, trying to figure out what to do. He was large, tall, looked muscular, with sandy blond wind-blown hair. His suit, while it had seen better days, looked expensive. She didn't see any blood, or smell any alcohol, but he had passed completely out.

 _What do I do? Run to the neighbors?_ She looked around. _Do I leave him here alone in the house_? That thought make her chuckle. _Yeah, right, like there's anything here worth stealing_...

She grabbed him as gently as she could under the arms and dragged him inside. "OK buddy, I'm going to go get some help. Just know, there's an attack cat somewhere around here...aqnd he knows Kung-Fu..." She flung open the door, grabbed a windbreaker off of the coat rack and ran out onto the porch, raising her arm in fornt of her eyes to try to block the sudden, stinging winds.

"Wait..." the man cried out. Involuntarily she turned around and saw that he had his eyes open, palm raised and fingers splayed wide. "Stay..." he said. "Just stay...let me ….I just need to rest..."

She looked into his eyes..and suddenly...all she wanted to do was _stay_...and help. She walked back slowly, slightly dazed and shut the door behind her. He smiled, dropping his outstretched hand and let his head go back down to the floor, gently this time.

"Can I...can I get you something...um...what...what do I call you?"

His eyes blinked open and he seemed to be puzzling over something...thinking...

"You can call me...Sam...yes...Sam will do..." he whispered, smiling. "And a blanket would be nice."

She nodded numbly, still feeling as if she were in a trance. "Um...do you think you can make it to the couch, or are you good there on the floor?"

With a grunt of effort, he rolled onto his side, gasping for air. His limbs shook as he got to a half-standing postion. She helped him over to the couch, where he collapsed onto it with a sigh of relief.

"What happened to you?" she asked weakly as she gathered up the cat's quilt and layed it over 'Sam's' legs and stomach.

He closed his eyes and frowned. "I got...robbed."

"Oh..." she replied. "Oh...yeah...that sucks...what'd they get?"

"Oh not much. Just pretty much _everything_ ," he smiled bitterly, his eyes still closed.

She smiled in sympathy. "All...allright...then I guess you just rest there for awhile. We'll talk later? Maybe call the cops once my phone's charged?"

He waved at her silently in agreement and she walked numbly back to her bedroom, passing a crouching Mr. Meow-gi in the corner of the hall. All of the hair on his back was standing on end and he was growling lowly.

"Oh be nice, you grumpy old thing," she muttered, moving past him to her room. "We have company."

She had meant to do some reading, but instead, she felt strangely drained. She sat down on her bed, then laid her head down. It took her less than a minute to fall into a restless slumber.

* * *

"So, this is the new office?" Castiel grunted, looking at the gaudily lit neon wall displaying several gold and platinum records framed on it. Crowley sat behind a neo-modern work desk, his feet propped up on it, and despite the low-lighting, was wearing large, black tinted sunglasses.

"Welcome to Hellfire Records, my dear Castiel," he answered happily.

"Crowley..."

Crowley held up a hand. "I know, I know, it isn't a downtown office suite, I understand. But it has all of the bells and whistles..."

Castiel's frown deepened. "That's not what I meant..."

"Did you want your own office?" Crowley frowned back, considering. "I suppose we could convert one of the storage rooms..."

"Crowley!"

Crowley snapped his fingers. "Ah! I've got it! I know _exactly_ what's bothering you! How are we expected to keep up on recent events if we don''t have a Big Board anymore, you're likely asking yourself...well...voila!" He pressed a button on a remote and the stainless steel cover on his tabletop rolled back into a hidden sheath, and several video screens lit up on the table's surface. "I haven't exactly come up with a name for it yet...I was leaning towards 'Observation Desk'..."

Castiel leaned down over the table top, glowering. Crowley smiled gleefully back up at him, feigning ignorance of Castiel's protests, hands clasped in fists under his chin. "You don't like it, do you?"

Castiel shook his head, looking down. "It's got nothing to do with that, Crowley. I just think that I think there was nothing wrong with working out of the Resistance headquarters in Los Angeles. And that we have much more important things to worry about than relocating and decorating our base of operations..."

Crowley held up a finger in protest. "You are neglecting the fact that by doing so, I also have effectively changed my identity, therefore opening up resources and monies that have, unfortunately, just recently become unavailable to my previous alias. Castiel, despite your obvious misgivings here, that is _important_ if we wish to keep ahead of our Mr. Winchester in tracking down Lucifer."

Castiel nodded and looked around. "It seems...it just seems like we're waiting out the inevitable. And going back to old habits, like this office, is just some strange form of denial..."

Crowley shrugged. "It doesn't _seem_ like it at all, if you ask me, Castiel. It _is_ a form of denial. I would only disagree with the 'strange' part of it."

Castiel frowned. "You..."

Crowley let his hands drop. "Me, what, Castiel? I _know_ what's out there, and I also know that's it's only a matter of time before it comes storming through whatever desperate defences that Atropos and Rowena were able to conjure up. Until that time, I have no options left except to either play this out – in my own unique way, mind you, the way that I feel comfortable with – or go to a bar somewhere, and stay permanently inebriated until the Old Ones actually do come through and proceed to eat my head off." He shrugged. "Personally, I have no great preference for one over the other, but since I would need money to get that drunk for a prolonged period of time, this seemed like the prudent first step."

Castiel watched him for a long time before sighing and leaving the room. Before he was completely out of the door, he turned around to Crowley and shrugged in return. "I actually can find no fault in that logic Crowley. Fine. We play it your way. For now. But I need to concentrate on finding Lucifer...and I'd appreciate any help you are able to provide me in that matter."

Crowley grinned. "Mi Casa, es su Casa, Castiel." He watched him leave then cast his gaze back down on one of the monitors that had been flashing a red message on it the entire time they had been talking. Luckily, Castiel hadn't noticed.

It was a message from Resistance Headquarters, and simply read: "Alert - Judah is here."

A cold sweat broke out on his forehead an he reached into his drawer and poured himself a large shot of whiskey.

* * *

"You didn't have to do that to him you know," Death said, hands clasped in front of him and regarding Judah with his head tilted to the side. "I thought you would have just finally put him out of his misery. Isn't that what you called me here for?"

Judah sneered. "Are you sorry that you missed out on the opportunity to reap my Son? That must be a severe disappointment to you."

Death didn't react to the taunt. "Oh, make no mistake, I will reap him at some point. You as well. It is an inevitability."

Judah moved closer, whispering dangerously. "Don't act so high and mighty with me, I know what you are. I created you."

Death looked him in the eyes. "I know what I am as well. Can you say the same about yourself, I wonder?" Judah scanned his eyes and stepped back. "You told mankind a long time ago that you were...oh, how did it go? Ah yes, now I recall. That you were the 'Alpha and the Omega'. But that's not entirely accurate, is it?"

"What do you mean?" Judah asked in a hiss.

"It means that I am the 'Omega', Judah. I always have been. For you as well. And if there's one thing that you can say that you have in common with man, it is this: you spend your entire existence fearing and trying to change that fact."

Judah glared.

"No. That's not what you are. That's your ego talking."

Death shrugged nonchalantly. "Than please en- _lighten_ me."

Judah grinned hostilely. "Cute pun."

"I do my best."

"What you are...what you _really_ are," Judah continued unfazed, " is a consequence. Nothing more. You've never had to create anything. Or destroy it. That's me. You've never had to make a difficult decision in your entire existence, like 'should that baby have to die?', like me. No, _you_ just _happen_." Judah shook his head. "You're a shell. An empty, unfeeling force of nature. And you know what? It's a mercy that I made you like that. Because if you had to deal with what I had to deal with..."

"Oh spare me your infantile pain!" Death snapped, his calm demeanor breaking. For his part, Judah actually looked surprised. "It's such a shame that you _always_ choose this form when you become the destroyer. You are such a child when you wear it," he added, calmer.

Judah cocked his head. "What do you mean, 'always'?"

Death's eyes twinkled. "Oh, now it seems there's something I know that you don't, doesn't it?" Judah watched him, warier now. "Shall I tell you?" Death leaned close to Judah. "We've danced this dance before, you and I, oh Destroyer of Worlds, oh Lion of Judah. Around and around in timeless, endless circles, we've danced this dance, and had this _same_ conversation, in one form or another, countless times. You speak of mercy? Every single time that I must clean up your mess and let you start all over again, you _beg_ me to let you forget about it all as the spark of Life comes back to you. And you use that exact word, every single time...' _mercy_ '." Death leaned closer, his eyes cold. "It is always something different that sets you off, though. This time, I suspect, the reason is the fact that you found out it was your own first-born sons Michael and Lucifer that had joined together and sought to wrest power from you – this is what set you off and created this particular eras destructive temper tantrum. You say that I am nothing but a 'consequence'? That I am 'unfeeling'? I say that you are wrong about that, and you are not paying attention. Do you want to know what I feel, Father? Tired. Tired of all the work that you create for me every time that you do this. Tired and frustrated that you always come back to _this_..." he said, obvious distaste in his voice as he waved his hand up and down at Judah. "...a spoiled, angry, child. Oh, I give you credit. More than you can imagine. What you are able to accomplish with your sheer Will is awe-inspiring. I am constantly watching in wonder and horror at the things that you are able to create and destroy, the sheer majesty of life and it's myriad details is truly...miraculous. And as long as you are still fighting to balance that scale, as long as 'create' is still a part of that equation, we see eye-to-eye, you and I. But _this_..." Death shook his head in disappointment. "Now you are nothing more than Death Incarnate. That same unfeeling, cold consequence that you just described to me. Worthless. And no one that I wish to spend more time talking to." He turned away and walked slowly down the hall, Judah staring silently after him. Before turning the corner, he glanced over his shoulder. "Would you like to know what I've been thinking about this entire time? I've been thinking about how I had thought that you had called me here to reap Lucifer. If you should have killed him or not for his betrayal. The fact that you didn't...or _couldn't_ bring yourself to do it, gave me hope. It still does, seeing as there is no other discernible reason for you to have wasted my time calling me here." He shook his head. "You might have been doing him a mercy, though, if you had let me take him."

"How so?" Judah asked, his voice raspy, uncertain.

"Without the Archangels power that you just ripped out of him, Lucifer is nothing more than a hollowed out shell of a half-Angel, still corrupted by demonic energy. He's out of balance now, his Angelic power grossly overwhelmed. That demonic energy will take over...and the son that was Lucifer – the one that you have spent your _entire existence_ trying to redeem yourself to, to seek forgiveness from, will be gone. Truly gone. More so that whatever I could have done to him."

"You..."Judah started, then his voice caught. He swallowed hard and looked away. "You presume much, Reaper."

Death smiled wanly. "I presume nothing, Father. I speak the truth. I seem to have no choice in that matter."

Judah watched him go, a voice in his head echoing...

" _Judah_..."

He gritted his teeth. "Go. Away."

The voice repeated itself, more urgently.

" _Judah_...!"

He shook his head and raised his hands to his temples, eyes widening in shock and fear as he saw that they had transformed...turned feminine, lithe...light...

"Go away _Charlie_!" he screamed to himself. " _I know what I'm doing_!"

He stood there shaking, eyes shut, until everything was silent again, watching the space where Death had stood just moments before. He looked down at his hands again.

Strong. Worn. Powerful. Destructive.

No. No, he couldn't let that bitter, ancient _creature_ sway his path. He had to stay focused.

Gabriel. Gabriel was next. He needed his Key.


	6. The Old Ones Come

**The Old Ones Come...**

"Play it back," Crowley whispered. He stood in the cramped security room of Resistance Headquarters, bent over a small black-and-white monitor. Sweat dripped from the forehead of the guard on duty there. Crowley didn't personally notice the Los Angeles heat in the small, air-conditioned room. After all, it was cooler than Hell had been. Still...

"And um...also, thank you for your prompt warning...I'll see what I can do about getting a fan in here or something." He frowned at his seemingly strange magnanimous gesture. Damn...was Castiel having that much of an effect on him? He shook his head. No. It was still the lingering after-shocks of the human blood infusion that Moose had given him all those many years ago. He still wasn't clear of those damnable things like _empathy_ and _care_ as a result of that...he shivered as the guard smiled up at him.

"Thanks Mr. Crowley, but I served three tours in Afghanistan. This is a walk down a cool sunset beach for me. Besides, it's kinda cool out today."

Crowley smiled tightly back. "Have it your way," he sneered unsympathetically. _Yes, much more like it_...

He watched the tape cue up again.

Lucifer was talking with Death. That alone should be enough for the monthly Nielsen ratings win, but then Judah showed up our of nowhere from behind Lucifer, who jumped like a cat next to a balloon popping.

Judah stretched his hand out. There was a flash of light that was so intense, it nearly burned out the camera, then Lucifer collapsed like a rag doll.

At first, Crowley thought that Judah had killed him, which was disturbing enough a thought on _several_ levels... but after an exchange between Death and God - and what he would have paid to have audio for _that_ \- Death walked away and Judah had a brief and rather physical temper tantrum. Then, seemingly back in control of himself, turned and walked out.

Lucifer did the same a few minutes later, stumbling out of the side door out into the Los Angeles suburbs, leading to whole new range of disturbing possibilities.

Crowley sighed and leaned back, crossing his arms and tapping a finger against his chin.

"Why would Lucifer come back here? And Cain is also missing – and are we _positive_ that it had nothing to do with Judah? Because that would be a very bad situation."

"Nah, Cain disappeared hours ago. Gabriel's after him."

Crowley sighed. "All the chess pieces out there in the open. This is not good..." He studied the black and white monitor and nodded to himself.

"Allright. Every Hunter available, on Lucifer's trail. Now. We need to know what Judah did to him."

The guard nodded. "Yes Mr, Crowley. A few went already, but I'll send the word out to deploy the rest." He shrugged. "It shouldn't be hard to find him, this didn't happen all that long ago."

"How long between this and when you sent the message to me?"

"Well, I sent the message to you about two minutes ago, and according to the time stamp on the video feed...I figure it's been less than ten minutes."

Crowley's brow furrowed. "And no word yet from the first Hunter teams? That's odd. Their quarry was on wobbly legs."

"Yeah, that's the other thing..."

"What 'other thing'?"

"Sudden case of the Santa Ana winds sprung up when all of this went down. And it's...I dunno...weird?"

"'Weird' how? Please feel free to elaborate." Crowley asked, growing impatient with the half answers.

The guard shrugged. "The Hunters said it's 'sandy'...like, I dunno, full of sand. I get stuff like that happening in the desert, but not in L.A."

"Please enlighten me, as I have yet to venture out into the Santa Ana winds – what are they normally like?"

"Um...windy?"

Crowley grimaced. No wonder this guy was still just a guard.

"What I meant was – from what you are saying – sand isn't usually a factor? I find that odd, considering east of here is a large, endless desert, and that's where the winds originate, correct...?"

The guard shook his head. "Yeah, sure, but that usually goes past the hillsides, any sandstorms end up hitting Route 66 outside of the city. Not here. Anyone from L.A. knows that."

Crowley tapped his chin more rapidly, considering.

"What if it's not coming from the east?"

The guard looked confused. "Um...huh?"

"Well put," Crowley answered, unfazed. "But, isn't there a rather large beach west of here?"

"Yeah...but the Santa Ana wind comes in from the _east_..."

Crowley smiled at the guard as if he were favoring a particularly hard to teach student with approval. "Are we sure? Has anyone checked that?"

"Um..."

"Right," Crowley grunted, uncrossing his arms and teleporting outside. He was hit in the face by a particularly cool blast of sand filled air. He frowned. "And it's supposed to be warm as well..." he muttered to himself, pulling out a handkerchief and hastily wrapping it around his mouth and nose.

He squinted into the wind, pointing his gaze directly in the direction it was coming from.

Towards Venice. The Pacific Ocean.

"Oh, something is _amiss_..." he whispered, snapping his fingers. A red Ferrari materialized out of thin air next to him, it's driver's side door opening slowly on its own. "Let's go have a look-see." He climbed into the car and slammed the door shut. The F136 engine roared to life with enough force to shake the walls of the warehouse behind it. It screeched out onto the road, the bass from the speakers thumping to the tune of "Sympathy for the Devil" from the Rolling Stones, disappearing into the nearly zero visibility air.

* * *

Leon hunkered down under the blanket. Damn, that wind was _cold_. He glanced over at Cain, who had his head turned into the storm, as if he were listening to the night air."

"Got something?" he asked.

Cain didn't show any signs of having heard him, but he still answered. " _Something_..." he said slowly and quietly, turning his head slightly in the air.

"Is it them?" Leon asked after getting no further reply after a few moments.

"No," Cain answered quickly. "Something else. Something..." he winced suddenly and grabbed his arm with his hand, as if he were burned. He shoved the sleeve back.

The Mark on his arm was glowing like a white-hot ember.

Cain's eyes widened and his head shot up. He stood up, staring off towards the beach.

Leon, alarmed, stood up too. "Hey, what is that? What does that mean?"

"Somethings coming...something is coming _through_..." Cain muttered. Leon felt his blood run cold, an even deeper cold than the wind that was already chilling him to his bones.

"What?"

Cain fixed him with his steely eyes. "Something _big_."

* * *

Dean stare down at the unholy mess on the table in the kitchen. He had been back in the bunker for all of three hours and had already managed to trash most of it looking for the books and things that he had needed.

Location spell.

Easy.

He sighed loudly, hands on his hips. _Why_ had he let Sam handle this crap on his own all these years?

 _Simple, idiot_ , he scolded himself. _Because he's a giant nerd and loves to do this stuff_.

He eyed the table again warily, then pulled out his zippo and lit the black candle there surrounded by dried herbs, flowers, various bones and religious artifacts.

"Uh..." he said, very unsure of himself. "...I need to find Sam Winchester." He looked over at the map, where a small glass marble dipped in blood sat in the corner. It didn't move.

"Sam Winchester," he repeated, louder. He watched for awhile then sighed again, looking away in frustration.

"Ok, ok, you win...Lucifer, I'm looking for Lucifer." The marble still didn't move.

With a grunt, Dean yanked the book of spells off of the small kitchen counter behind him and ran his finger down the script of the spell. He was just about to give up when he spotted something.

"Oh, super...ok, supernatural entities need extra mojo...," he muttered to himself. "Black cat hair for demons...goose feathers for angels. Crap. What's Lucifer, anyway? A little of both, right?" He rubbed his forehead, reading further. The marble would cast a blue flame for angels, and red for demons.

He went back to the 'Prep Room' in the basement and gathered the ingredients, and then arranged them carefully onto the table. The marble immediately jumped on the world map, rolling to the southern end of California, and spinning to a stop there. Dean breathed a sigh of relief. _At least he's still in the good ol' US of A_ , he thought. Getting to him if he was in Tibet or something would have been a problem – it was bad enough that he would have to drive all the way there from Lawrence. He. quickly turned to a pile of maps on the floor and rifled through them until he had one of Los Angeles. He carefully lifted the marble up and switched maps out. The marble spun then moved over to an area of the suburbs just outside of the city limits near Venice. Dean frowned. _Damn, he didn't even make it that far from the Resistance...I should have stayed put_...his thoughts trailed off, and he squinted at the marble.

It was glowing with a purely red flame.

 _Huh_ , he thought. _I guess Lucie is more Demon than Angel these days_. He shrugged. It didn't matter. One way or another, he was getting Sammy back.

He looked back at the flaming red marble again and with a second thought, grabbed a book of Exorcism, then ran to get his gear packed into the Impala.

* * *

Castiel closed his eyes. And listened.

He found Gabriel almost immediately and sighed in relief. At least he wasn't trying to hide himself. Tracking him with a spell would have required time that he didn't have.

He flew there, the rush of giant wings fluttering in the air. Gabriel was leaning against a parked white van, eyeing a Holiday Inn across the street, squinting through the howling winds. Castiel followed his eyes and saw that Jesse and a couple of Hunters were moving carefully through the parking lot towards one of the doors on the end. Gabriel looked up when Castiel landed and smiled.

"Hello there, fellow Archangel. Looks good on you."

Castiel frowned. "I don't feel any different, really."

Gabriel looked him up and down, his forehead wrinkled. "Hm. Something's...off."

"'Off'? 'Off 'how?"

Gabriel concentrated, then shook his head. "I honestly don't know. I try to look at you, and it's like my gaze just...I dunno...slides off." He frowned, then pinched his nose. "Weird." He looked back to the parking lot. Jesse was knocking on one of the doors.

"Did you find them? Robert and Angela?"

"Let you know that in a sec," Gabriel answered, raising an eyebrow and holding up his index finger. The door opened, Jesse had a few words with the person inside, then the door shut again. Jesse turned back to the street and shrugged apologetically .

"So, that'd be a 'no', then..." Gabriel sighed, shaking his head. "Third one today."

"They're masking their trail?"

"Duh," Gabriel answered, obviously frustrated. "I hate when that happens."

"You do that all the time, Gabriel."

"Yeah, that's what makes it so frustrating. They shouldn't be allowed to do it to _me_..."

Castiel winced in the harsh wind, looking around him. "What is this? Cold wind in Los Angeles?"

Gabriel nodded. "Yeah, weird. It started up right around the time Lucifer's power disappeared."

Castiel's jaw dropped in shock."Wh...what did you just say?"

Gabriel smiled at him. "I assume that's why you came here, right? You wanted me to help you track down Lucie? Well, two parts bad news there, cocheese. One - I can't help you. I have people to find on my own. And two – it seems that someone ripped Lucifer's Archangel power right out of him less than an hour ago." He looked at Castiel questioningly. "You didn't feel that?" Castiel shook his head. "Huh. More weirdness. That shot through me like a bullet. I thought any Archangel would have felt that..." He squinted at Castiel again. "What i _s_ up with you, anyway little brother?"

Castiel sighed and held up his arms helplessly. "I have _no idea_ what you mean, Gabriel," he snapped, letting his arms fall back to his sides. "But if what you're saying is correct about Lucifer, that is a huge problem. He was one of the last Archangels holding the Keys to the Gate." He leveled his gaze at his older brother. "That makes it all the more urgent for you to help me find him. We need to find out what happened."

Gabriel shrugged. "It really isn't that hard to figure out, Castiel. My guess? It was Dad. He either killed him or just took the power right out of him. And if I'm a betting man, I'm next on that list. So, no, thanks. I'd rather get back to powering up Jesse here, so I have something to kick Pop's ass when he comes around looking for me."

Castiel looked doubtful. "Even Jesse isn't _that_ powerful."

Gabriel smiled. "Please, Cassie, you know the prophecies just as well as I do. He is destined to rip down the hosts of Heaven. And yeah, it even says that not even God Himself could stop him, so, yes, thank you, I am kinda betting on that."

Castiel sighed and nodded at Jesse and the Hunters as they reached the van. They flung open the door and bustled inside, getting out of the cold, sandy wind. he frowned, turning to Gabriel.

"You say this wind started when Lucifer's power disappeared?"

"Yeah...?" Gabriel answered slowly.

"Gabriel, what if that means something is breaking through?"

Gabriel frowned. "I suppose it's possible, but with the Gate still up, it would have to have help...who would do something like that?"

Castiel shook his head. "I don't know. But I'm going to go find out." He looked towards the direction the wind was coming from and took off.

"Good luck, bro," Gabriel muttered before turning back to the team in the van and clapping his hands together sharply. "Allright folks, we're not getting paid by the hour. Onward!"

* * *

The Roman chanted , staring out at the rising waves.

He had felt it – something had changed. The Gate was weakened. Now was the time. He concentrated, trying to form the image of the Beast in his mind.

The wind picked up, cold, picking up sand from the beach.

He barely heard the Ferrari roar out over the neighboring pier. He glanced over nonchalantly to see Crowley get out and start strolling casually in his direction, hands in his pockets.

An insect. He needn't worry about him. He turned back to the sea, watching the rolling caps carefully, looking for a sign. He chanted, not breaking his cadence.

The Angel landed next to him, spraying sand into his face. He looked over at the swirling beige tranchcoat and shook his head. Castiel. Another insignificant pest. He turned back to his work.

He saw it.

A dark greenish-black mass broke the surface of a wave, swirling into wave. Excitedly, he scanned the area and broke off his chanting, standing up. He realized that Castiel and Crowley had been shouting at him, but he had been completely ignoring their words.

"You're too late...he's here!" Cartaphilus smiled, shouting to be heard over the wind.

"What?! What's already here?!" Crowley yelled.

"You will soon see...or do you wish to be dispatched beforehand?", the Roman asked, cocking his head and drawing his sword. "It may be a mercy, after all."

" _What_ is coming through, Cartaphilus?" Castiel asked, drawing his Angel Blade and circling the Roman carefully.

Cartaphilus glanced back at the ocean, his eyes delirious with pleasure and anticipation as he watched a dark, massive shape rising out of the sea. "A Great God. A true God. One that will bring the world to _ruin_..."

"It's not time for that, Roman. But it will be soon," a voice cut through the blasting wind, seemingly making it go silent. Cartaphilus spun, sword in hand, towards the voice's direction. His face split into a great grin and he threw back his head, howling in laughter.

"And one that shall bring this false God to his end!" he screamed. "Behold! The Lion of Judah!" He lowered his head, levelling a dangerous gaze at the figure at the top of the sand dune leading down to the beach. "Shall you meet your end now, Creator? Or stay your hand and watch as a _true_ God destroys your precious Creation?"

Judah's eyes flicked from the Roman to the ocean, and frowned.

"I'm sorry to break this to you, Roman, but I will be the one to determine when this Creation ends, not you. But do not worry, it will not be long." He tilted his head in question. "It appears as if we are on the same side, Roman. Why don't you just let me continue my work here? Why not play your role and allow your end to come?"

Cartaphilus gritted his teeth. "No, no...you don't choose my end, I choose yours." He squeezed his eyes shut. "Don't you dare to _think_ that I don't know how this works, Judah. You end the world your way, then rebuild it again and _again_ \- an endless, torturous circle." He opened his eyes, which were red with rage. " _No more_. My Masters will take it from you. All of it. No coming back. The circle is broken. I _will take e_ verything from you – as you have taken it from me!"

Judah smiled bitterly. "How do you know that I don't want the same thing this time, Cartaphilus? Maybe...maybe I have had enough of this as well..."

The Roman's eyes flickered, as for the first time in what seemed like eons, _doubt_ entered them.

"Father...how...how can you say that?" Castiel croaked.

Judah sighed. "Look at the nightmares that I have helped create Castiel," he whispered, his voice impossibly carrying over the wind. His eyes went to the ocean. "You call them Old Gods...but without me to give them form, they would have been left alone...and this...this _abomination_...wouldn't walk the world today...how can you ask me to continue _this_?"

Castiel turned slowly, and his eyes went skyward. And then higher.

Higher.

 _Higher_...

It blocked out the entire horizon, it's face an insane mass of writhing tentacles. Great, torn wings spread from it's back, and clawed hands clenched and un-clenched in the howling night air. It's eyes - yellow, cold hatred, fixed on the small figures on the beach in front of it, and Castiel instinctively knew it's name.

Cthulhu had come.

His Blade dropped from his numb hand into the sand as he closed his eyes.


	7. Focal Point Break

**Focal Point Break**

"What the hell is a _Kaiju_?" Lieutenant Colonel Derek Brastle asked, leaning over to his colleague seated next to him in the briefing room.

The man next to him, Colonel Jim Searsey, rolled his eyes and neck with marked exaggeration and fixed Derek with an stare of pure indignation.

"You have _got_ to me kidding me...," Jim moaned, shaking his head. "You are such a nerd..."

"No, that'd be _you_ ," Derek shot back. "You're the one that knows what the hell this _Kaiju_ or whatever thing it is you just called it in the first place. Bet it comes out of one of those damned comic books that you _still_ read, I might add..." He leaned back. "And you're calling _me_ a nerd."

Jim sighed and slapped playfully at Derek's arm, calling attention to the two-star General that had just entered the room and was hustling over to the podium and sorting through a handful of paperwork. "A _Kaiju_ ," he whispered as the general got settled, "is the Japanese word for 'Strange Beast', and if I don't miss my guess, you're about to see one up close."

Derek nodded slightly and smiled. "It did come out of a comic book, though, right?"

"Shut up," Jim muttered, and Derek's smile grew.

"All right, everyone settle down," the General mumbled, finally getting all of his papers in order and looking up at the young, nervous pilot's faces. "I'll skip the preliminaries, we've all seen the news." He glanced over meaningfully at the muted TV flatscreen monitor on the wall, where a CNN news scrawl had the same image on it's screen as it had been playing for the last hour or so – a giant, writhing, horrific beast had risen out of the ocean on the shore of Venice beach and was looming over the city of Los Angeles as if it were a child's set of Legos. The news helicopters were keeping a sensible distance, which made making out details of the thing hard, despite its size. There were also inexplicably several people on the beach in front of it, seemingly facing off against the thing.

The General's eyes left the screen and focused back on the pilots. "As of yet, we've not been able to ascertain what in the living hell that thing is, or what those people down on the beach think they're doing, but also as of yet, the thing hasn't taken any hostile actions... _.yet_ ," he added with emphasis.

He shrugged. "I'm not an idiot, though. I'm sure you all have the same gut feeling about that Son-of-a-Bitching thing out there that I do...it just feels like pure evil...and that at any moment, it's going to rip L.A. Apart, and there won't be much in the way of stopping it." He scanned the room. "Please feel free to speak up if any of you disagree." Several of the pilots nodded, some shifted nervously in their seats, but no one said anything. The General nodded.

"Good. So, I'm not one for waiting around for that to happen. We're ending this thing. Now. You pilots represent an entire squadron of F-22 Raptors that are going to make that thing wish it had stayed in whatever level of Hell it crawled out of. We're going to atomize this thing. Period. Let the environmentalists and scientists sort out the dust particles later and try to see if it really was hostile or not. To me, it doesn't matter if it is hostile or not, we're going to out-hostile it, post-haste." He glanced down at his podium and shuffled through the papers. "Fueling and outfitting began less than thirty-minutes ago. It will be completed in ten. I want wing-tips up and screaming two minutes after that. Any questions, problems or complaints can wait until...well, never. I'm not interested." He grabbed the papers and looked back at the TV screen. "Good luck, gentlemen. And God speed."

* * *

Dean checked the Fuzz-Buster hidden under the dashboard and gunned the Impala. It was supposed to be about a day's trip from Lawrence to Los Angeles.

He was sure he could do it in ten hours...with a little bit of luck.

The only 'luck' that he really had at the moment, was that absolutely no one was heading towards L.A...not after the giant squid-faced monstrosity showed up on the coastline.

Dean had been getting updates on the radio, and it had mentioned several people down on the beach in front of it. He didn't need to guess who at least a couple of those people were...but he was hoping that one of them was Sam, and that he could get to him before the walking sushi-skyscraper did anything to him.

He revved the engine again and pushed it past 135, possible only because of the modifications he had made to the engine, sincerely hoping that the Fuzz-Buster hadn't been lying to him. He still had his FBI I.D., but at the speed he was going, there would still be several uncomfortable questions, and he just didn't have time to spare.

Lucifer was in that city, and was using Sam for his ride. Dean had to fix that – giant monster be damned.

* * *

"Turn that up."

Geena froze on her way to the kitchen and walked robotically back to the living room, picking up the remote from the dining room table, and turning up the volume for _him_.

The last few hours had been a blur. She had collapsed on her bed, and woke up in funk, for lack of a better word for it. Pretty much just waited hand and foot on _him_...

He had called himself 'Sam', but her instincts told her that that was a lie. Her instincts also told her that he lied _a lot_.

She felt like she was underwater, struggling to break to the surface, desperate to wake up from a dream that she found herself in – detached, floating, not in control.

She knew that he was the reason behind it.

She watched him as he sat up on the couch and leaned forward towards the tv.

"...authorities are urging the public to stay away from Venice Beach and the surrounding area," the news anchor was saying. " The Mayor has refused to say if an evacuation of the larger Los Angeles area would be called for or needed. Once again ,we will cut live to our eye-in-the-sky chopper and bring you live footage from the disturbance. We would like to once again warn our viewers, the images that we are about to bring you are disturbing, and can cause feelings of panic. Viewer discretion is advised."

The anchor stopped and the muted sounds of helicopter blades came on the speakers. Geena walked to where she could see the screen.

A large, vaguely human-like creature was standing in the ocean, leaning out over the beach. It was impossibly huge, and appeared to have it's attention focused on something on the ground below it. The camera panned in that direction, and Geena squinted at the small, ant-like people on the ground there.

She looked back over to _him_ , and noticed something that she hadn't seen on his face yet in the short time since his arrival in her life.

Fear.

It made her feel somewhat happy and immensely worried all at the same time.

She turned back to the kitchen and went back to fixing sandwiches. _He_ had said that he hads wanted her to eat something.

Honestly, she wasn't hungry.

But... _he_ had suggested it, so...

A tear ran down the side of her face as she spread the butter on a piece of bread, put it on top of the sandwich, and took a bite, choking it down.

* * *

"Wait, Robert, tell me again, how is this _not_ our responsibility?"

Angela stood with her hands on her hips, the TV playing the images of the gigantic creature behind her. Robert eyed the TV, frowned and turned away.

"We can't just ignore this! You literally just got through arguing with me about having the power to do something about..."

"No, no, no, no, no! Robert yelled, turning back around and pointing at her. "What I said was – the power is ours to use to _defend_ ourselves! Not to go charging in against...that, whatever the hell that is!"

She grimaced. "I...you know? I thought you were more than this, Robert..."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means...it..." she stopped and shook her head. "I am not that person, Robert...I am not that person. I can't just let that thing frikking _eat_ Los Angeles, ok? So, you know what? Fine. You do what you want to do. Run. Hide. Whatever...just don't expect me to blindly follow along." She looked at him with a mix of anger and sadness, set her jaw, and stormed out of the hotel room's door, slamming it behind her.

Robert watched the door for a long time, his mouth slightly open. He sat down slowly on the bed and turned slowly back to the TV.

* * *

"Seriously, dude, did you just say that you wanted to get _closer_ to that thing?"

Cain didn't look back at Leon, he just squinted towards the beach from atop the sand berm that they were crouched down on. "There are people down there..." he muttered. "No...not people...there's power there...lot's of it...old power..." He sighed and looked back to Leon. "That creature down there, do you know what it is?"

"Yeah. Too big to mess around with," Leon muttered in response.

"It's an Old One. A particularly nasty one, too. You've probably heard of it – it's called Cthulhu."

"Yeah...yeah...I've heard of it. Lovecraft, right?"

Cain nodded. "Lovecraft actually used spells and cracked through the dimensional walls to see those things. Thought it would give him great story ideas." Cain shook his head. "It did, too. But it also drove him insane." He stared back down at the beach. "The thing is, that creature shouldn't be here. Someone or something used an unreal amount of power to break that creature through the Gate." He looked down at the still inflamed Mark on his arm and winced. "And I mean to put that thing back where it came from."

"Ummm...you _are_ seeing that that thing is the size of a building, right?"

Cain shrugged. "It isn't on it's own plane of existence, the non-chaotic, stable reality here is actually weakening him."

"Does that mean that you think that can take it?"

Cain smiled. "No. But if I can get some help from whoever else is down there, we might just be able to do it together...and it needs to happen, too. Because the alternative..."

Leon frowned. "What about 'the alternative'?"

Cain frowned, closed his eyes, and reached into his coat. It came out holding a petrified , long animal's jawbone fixed to a wooden handle.

"We can't afford to find that out," he whispered.

* * *

" _Lightbringer_ ," Cthulhu hissed, it's voice filling the air with a rumble like crashing waves. " _I am impressed that you had the courage to come face me yourself_."

Judah looked up at the massive creature, then over at Castiel and Crowley, who were standing in total shock a few feet away, then to the maniacally grinning Cartaphilus. He smiled and looked back down at the sand under his feet.

"You can't be here," he said simply.

There was a rumble like laughter. " _I was invited_." The monster leaned down, it's massive shoulders blocking out the sky. " _It was only a matter of time before one of your own betrayed you to us_."

Judah met it's gaze, unflinching. "It is not your time."

" _Time means nothing to me. I am here. That is enough_." Cthulhu rose to it's full height and spread out it's clawed arms and wings to it's sides. " _This world is mine_."

"When I say it is, Old One, not before."

The creature glared hatefully at Judah. " _And how do you think to stop me, Lightbringer_? _When you battled me last, you had an army of Angels at your back, and you barely won. Where are your armies now_?"

"I never fight the same battle twice, abomination. This is your last warning."

Cthulhu crouched as if it were ready to spring. " _Do your worst_."

The M161A2 Vulcan cannons from forty separate US fighter jets struck the creature in the chest with the air-to-surface small diameter bombs shrieking simultaneously from the F-22 Raptors, Cthulhu screamed in fury while disappearing in a cloud of smoke and fire.

The jets screamed overhead, circling, as black smoke billowed off of the Old One's back. It hissed in pain and defiance, and glared down at a smiling Judah.

" _My turn_..." it growled, flashing out an arm, directly into the path of the turning jets. They banked hard out of the way, but two of them were not quick enough, exploding in a flash of fire, the sickening sound of their sudden impact echoing in the air. Cthulhu roared and brought it's fist crashing down towards the beach where Judah stood.

It roared in fury as it stopped in mid-air, short of it's goal.

Castiel looked over at Crowley, incredulous, as Crowley had his hand out, fingers splayed, eyes burning red.

"Crowley...?" he croaked. "How... _how are you doing that_?"

Crowley looked over at Castiel, his expression confused, and more than just a little afraid.

"Castiel...I really, really wish that I knew the answer to that..."


	8. Fallen Angels

**Fallen Angels**

Geena watched the television and heard the explosions that were striking the monster in the ocean not only from the small Samsung's speakers, but also from just outside of her window, the few seconds of delay creating an eerie stereo effect that just added to the surrealness of the last day.

"Geena, could you come over here, please?" _he_ asked from the couch. He was leaned forward, staring at the floor with his hands clasped in front of him. When she (obediently and robotically) obeyed, and stood in front of him, he raised his head to her, his eyes pained.

"I'm going to let you go now," he said, smiling sadly. "I think you know what I'm talking about." He frowned and looked out of the small window on the wall to his left. "When I had more power, my influence was...undetectable. But now...after what Father did to me..." he trailed off, then shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Nothing does, anymore, I suppose." He sighed and looked back up at her, his sad, pained smile returning.

"Geena, I am actually sorry for what I did to you. I hope that you believe me. But I needed a few minutes to recover...to think...to come up..." he shook his head again, his eyes going wide, "...with this insanely stupid plan." He clenched his jaw. "I'm going to release you, then I'm going to ask you for something. Understand, you are free to say no to me, it's going to be your choice, one-hundred percent, OK?" Geena nodded. She couldn't help it. He watched her, the stress evident on his face. "It's...really important to me that you agree, though, I just want you to know that also...and ….while I understand that the last thing on your mind will be to help me, I want you to think of the bigger picture...that's all. If you don't agree, I'll have to find someone else that will, and I just don't know if I...if any of us..." he glanced meaningfully at the TV screen and then out of the window again, where the sounds of a massive battle just a few blocks away were not diminishing, "...like I said, if _any of us_ have that kind of time left. Do you understand?" Geena nodded, and the man calling himself 'Sam' lowered his head, held out a slightly shaking palm...

….and Geena was free again.

She fought down an instant urge to scream and run, instead looking down at the 'man' sitting on her couch with a mixture of panic and rage.

" _Get the hell out of my house_..." she hissed at him, her hands curling into balls, her feet wriggling, ready to run.

He looked up at her. "I will. I promise, but I still needed to ask you something."

"Why in the world would I do _anything_ to help you? I did that once, and you...you..." she replied, her voice trembling, tears running down her face.

"I know," he replied calmly, his eyes like ice. "And I promise you, I didn't want to, but I had no choice...I needed that time. The whole world needed that time..." he stopped and chuckled softly to himself. "Look at me...regular hero now..." he whispered. He looked back to Geena. "I don't think I need to explain to you what an unfair place this world, this entire universe can be. Unfortunately, it picked you today."

"No, _you_ picked me..."

'Sam' shook his head. "Maybe you're right. I don't know. I do know though that it doesn't matter. I will ask you anyway. And then, depending on your answer, I will either save the entire stinking world, or later, or never. So, I'll ask again...do you understand?"

Geena stared at him, jaw clenched. "You ask, then you'll go? No matter what I say?"

"Those are the rules," he said, that sad smile returning.

"Then hurry the hell up and ask me."

'Sam' looked up at Geena, directly in her eyes.

And then he asked.

* * *

The waters raged and churned around Cthulhu's legs as he strained and struggled to free his arm from Crowley's grasp. The tableau was more than bizarre; the tiny, sweating, and very much confused and shocked Crowley, like an ant next to the towering, powerful, slavering beast that was Cthulhu, holding his arm still like it was child's.

The remaining F-22 fighter jets had completed their loop, and were once again peppering the giant monstrosity with their Gatling guns, some of the concentrated fire actually penetrating Cthulhu's thick hide in places. Cthulhu raged and swatted a them with it's free hand, but was off balance – anchored by Crowley holding it's arm fast.

A deadly, malevolent intelligence gleamed in it's wet eye, and suddenly, the sky went dark as one of it's massive, bat-like wings fanned out wide in the air. Several of the jets couldn't avoid it, and bounced off of the wing , spiraling sickeningly out of the sky, trailing smoke and fire. Cthulhu roared in triumph and turned it's attention back to Crowley.

Much to his dismay.

" _What manner of power do you wield, little demon?_ " Cthulhu bellowed, leaning down to send its massive tentacles surrounding its mouth to batter Crowley. They sent up plumes of sand and earth, but Crowley absorbed the impact and held his ground.

"I'm telling you that I have no idea!" Crowley screamed back pitifully. He looked around wildly, and spotted Judah standing a few yards away, arms crossed.

And smiling.

Crowley's eyes narrowed in rage.

" _You_ ," he spat, his voice full of hatred. "You did something to me... _what_? What did you do?"

Judah shrugged his shoulders and looked up at Cthulhu's towering figure. "I'm not going to explain that with _him_ standing right there," he replied nonchalantly. "I needed a stop-gap. You were it." He rubbed his chin, considering. "It still doesn't solve the immediate problem of how to get rid of it, though...for that I'll need...oh, it's _you_ again," he trailed off, spinning away quickly as a bronze gladius came swinging through the air from behind him. Cartaphilus cursed and spat, re-orienting himself on Judah and cutting through the air horizontally at him. Judah almost casually sprang back and swatted at the sword, spinning Cartaphilus off balance, stumbling in the sand. "Seriously, Roman, as I've explained to you, if you would just let the course of events continue apace, you'll get what you want..."

"I am FINISHED listening to you!" Cartaphilus screamed, spit flying from his mouth. "What I want is your _head_ , Lightbringer! Is _that_ what you intend to deliver to me?!"

Judah sighed and shook his head. "No, I suppose not. You'll just have to settle with Armageddon...and as such, your long-awaited grave." He sprang through the air, his leg whipping out like a snake, and Cartaphilus' gladius went spinning off along the beach. His fist followed down in an long arc, the impact of the blow on the Roman's jaw sending him whirling like a top to the ground. He groaned in pain and spat out sand and blood, looking up at Judah with red, hate-filled eyes.

"You...must...suffer..." he grunted.

"Oh, I have already suffered, Roman, at the very hands of you and your ilk." Judah's eyes narrowed dangerously. To his side, the cacophony of Cthulhu's tentacles slamming down in the air around Crowley, Castiel darting in between them and striking at them with his recovered Angel's Blade, was almost lost on his calm demeanor and stride. "Or have you forgotten how you so deservedly earned your curse?" He leaned down and grabbed Cartaphilus' hair roughly in one hand, jerking his head back. The Roman let out a gasp of pain. "You thrust your spear into my exposed side, Roman, and laughed as my life's blood spilled, as I cried out, helpless, in anguish. Have you forgotten?" He leaned closer. "I have returned as the Lion, Roman. And I assure you, you will not find me such easy prey this time around, no matter how much Darkness that you have absorbed into your soul." He slammed Cartaphilus' head back down into the sand, staring at him with pure contempt. He looked back up at Cthulhu and sighed. "Your plaything must return. And for that, I will need to balance the scales." He turned his head, looking over the sand berm behind him and smiled. "I have set so many pieces in motion, Roman. Here come the counter-weights."

* * *

Angela looked over the hill at the beach below and her heart caught in her chest.

It was a scene straight out of a sci-fi horror movie.

The roaring tentacle-mouthed monster towered over the entire horizon. US fighter jets darted and swooped around it, trying, but failing, to bring it down. It's right arm was, strangely, somehow pinned to the ground. She squinted and saw a small, sand covered figure there that looked like the monster was trying to smash or eat – or both. There were flashes of blue light as another figure darted and struck at the thing's head, and off to the side, a person lay prone in the sand, with another standing aloof and untouched to his side.

She shook her head, blinking.

What was she _doing_ here?

She felt the Angelic Blade in her fist and grasped it tighter, setting her jaw. _Stopping that thing_ , _that's what_ , she told herself, taking a deep breath.

She scrambled over the berm, when a voice called out from behind her.

"Hey, you trying to be a hero all by yourself?"

Angela froze mid-leap and looked back.

"Robert?" she asked, her voice full of surprise, and relief.

He nodded, his hands held out to his sides apologetically. "Yeah...yeah...you...you were right, you know?" He took a few hesitant steps towards her and she smiled. He relaxed, then looked over her shoulder at the beachfront below. "Um...at least...I _think_ thatyou were...um...holy cow..."

Angela narrowed her eyes. "Robert...we have to stop that thing...you know that, right?"

He nodded slowly. She held out her hand. "Then let's finish this. Together?"

He looked at her hand and took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Yeah...yeah...I suppose so..."

He took her hand and they raced down towards the beach, Blades flashing in the twilight, smoke filled sky.

Leon watched Cain stand up, rolling his sleeve free from his forearm where the Mark was, holding it in the air aloft.

"I am the keeper of the Gate!" Cain roared. The Mark on his arm began to glow. "I command you to return to your world!"

The scene below them suddenly went ghostly silent. The roar of the jets dulled to a whisper, the bellowing of Cthulhu muted. It turned from it's fight on the beach, it's great eyes narrowing at Cain and the Mark.

" _You offer nothing in return_ , _Gate-keeper_ ," it rumbled, it's voice echoing as if coming from a long ways off. " _There is no balance_ , _therefore there is no returning_."

Sweat broke out on Cain's forehead. "I _command_ you to...!" he repeated.

Cthulhu laughed deep in it's belly, a cold, merciless, humorless thing.

" _I am no mere Deep One or Broodling or Shoggath, Gate-keeper, I am a Greater God, and as such, cannot be so dismissed_!"

Cain squeezed his eyes shut in effort, the muscles in his neck straining.

"I...command...you..."

"Enough," a calm voice broke through the air, causing all eyes to turn towards it. Judah strode forward and looked up at Cain.

"It is correct," Judah said. "To remove this thing, I need power to do it. The Mark is alone not enough."

He turned towards the two figures that had just jumped over the sand berm that now stood motionless there on the beach, hand-in-hand.

"But two Archangels should do the trick."

"No!" came a scream from down on the beach. Castiel burst from underneath the chaos and sprinted towards Robert and Angela, his torn and dirtied trenchcoat streaming out behind him. "Take me!," he screamed desperately, head turned towards Judah. "Damn you, take me! They're innocent!"

Judah cocked his head. "You know, Castiel, it's a shame that Gabriel doesn't have your courage. I could have killed two birds with one stone if he had the guts to show up here." He raised his hand towards Robert and Angela. "But no, it must be this way."

Behind him, Cthulhu began to roar in defiance. Robert and Angela turned their heads slowly towards Judah, dumbfounded.

"Stop...stop...!" Castiel panted, trying to close the distance and get between Judah and the two Archangels. He tried to fly, but his wings would not respond. He cast one last, desperate, pleading look at Judah...

Robert and Angela dropped to the ground, lifeless.

Bright, blinding white energy flew out of them in a streak, meeting the Mark on Cain's forearm, forcing him to turn his head away from the sun-like glare.

Castiel skidded to a halt on his knees in the sand in front of the two teens, grabbing at them. He pressed two fingers to each of their foreheads, desperately trying to bring them back.

The white energy filled the sky, enveloped the massive form of the great Old One.

" _This_... _is_... _only a temporary reprieve_ , _Lightbringer_... _I_... _shall_... _return_... _and I will bring my Brothers with m_ e...!" Cthulhu screamed, it's form dissipating like mist before a blazing sun.

And all was silent.

"No...no...", Castiel said numbly, holding the limp forms in his arms. He looked up at Judah, with stunned disbelief in his eyes. "They were _innocent_ , Father...what have you become?"

Judah stared back, and a flicker of something almost like remorse crossed his face. He hid it quickly, and raised his chin. "It was necessary, Castiel. All things die. Their death was noble. But if you must be angry at someone, take it up with the Roman. He was responsible for forcing my hand here today."

Castiel stood up, still holding Angela's hand in his own. "You don't get to pass the blame so easily, you son-of-a-bitch," he growled. Judah stared back in defiance. Castiel let the arm drop back gently to the ground. "You know something, Father? I think that for the first time in my long life, I finally understand something?"

"And that is?"

Castiel's eyes narrowed at him. "I finally understand what Lucifer was talking about, you arrogant bastard."

Judah rocked back a bit, then sighed and nodded to himself. "I...this is my world, Castiel, my Creation...you don't understand...I have to follow my own rules...or none of this can exist. And it's...it's not enough, Castiel. There needs to be _more_..." He looked up. "I'm making sure there will be. One day you will understand."

Castiel clenched his teeth. "I. Don't. Want. To..." he growled. "I don'T want to understand a world where the innocent have to die at your whim. You could have spared them..."

Judah shook his head. "No, Castiel..."

"...taken me instead..."

"No, Castiel..."

"Why not?!" Castiel screamed. "Why not me?! I begged you to do it!"

"Because you still have things to do, Castiel...a part to play..."

"IN DESTROYING THE WORLD?!" Castiel yelled, advancing. "Well then, I hate to tell you this, but I won't play along!"

"No Castiel...in saving it."

Castiel stopped short, his arms falling to his sides. "Saving it...? You said that you wanted to end it all..."

Judah smiled. "I do. I will. I need you to save it..."

Castiel eyed him, his head turning to the side, slow comprehension and surprise appearing in his eyes.

"...from me," Judah finished with a mournful grin, disappearing.

The jets whined overhead in the distance, heading back to their base. The winds and sand were settling all along the beachfront, and the sudden Santa Ana winds were dying down.

Cain sank to the sand, staring at the bodies of Angela and Robert, holding back a sobbing and screaming Leon with his arm.

Down on the beach, Crowley sank down to his knees as waves of red smoke cascaded off of his body.

The Roman watched all of this, then, unobserved, departed.

In a dingy little two bedroom apartment a few blocks away, there was a shriek of sound, a loud, flash of white light, and then, silence.


	9. A Huntin' We Will Go

**A Huntin' We Will Go**

"Ow!" the man exclaimed, hopping on one foot and grabbing at his left shin, where it had just crashed into the heavy end table in his study. He glared at the dusty old thing with venom in his eyes.

"I should have left you at that yard sale," he muttered with a faintly British accent. He collapsed into an equally dusty chair and reached for the tv remote, hitting 'rewind' on his Tivo and squinting at the small 24" screen.

The creature roared and fought as the shaky camera footage from the news helicopter panned around the scene. He paused the image when it zoomed in on the beast's face, leaning forward, his mouth opened once again in pure awe.

"It's one of _them_..."he whispered. "It's _really one of them_..." He sank back into the chair, the remote still pointed at the screen. The was a rustle of movement off to his left and he glanced over to a small pile of discarded of clothes and print-outs of research notes gathered on the stained old oak floor there. A small, black and white furry face peeked out from behind a shirt and looked at him quizically.

"Mrrroowwrr?" it asked.

"Cthulhu, most likely, Wilcox" the man answered, smiling and waggling the remote in the air. "Right up your alley, I suppose," he chuckled at a private joke and settled back in the chair, hitting 'play'. "Astonishing. A Great Old One manifesting in _real_ time...in _my_ lifetime..." Wilcox stalked out from his fortress of detritus and smoothly leaped into the man's lap, looking up at him in anticipation.

"Mrrrrpppp?" it queried, a bit more insistent than the last time.

"Hmm? Oh no, it's not time for your dinner yet, Wilcox, you know better than that," the man said, absentmindedly stroking the cat's back. Wilcox grudgingly let out a small sigh and settled down into his lap, purring loudly. The man sighed as well, watching the battle over Venice beach for the fifth time in the last half an hour since it had actually occurred. He hit pause again and zoomed in when the camera focused on some of the people on the beach, apparently doing battle, _impossibly_ , with the manifestation of Cthulhu - the most well-known and ferocious of the Great Old Ones. One of them, someone in a business suit of all things, red-faced and straining, held Cthulhu's great, clawed arm fast with both hands. The man shook his head in disbelief, hit a button to take a screen capture, and another to transfer it to his laptop. He leaned over to the small coffee-table next to him and hit a few keys, pulling up the man's face. Frowning, he loaded it into his custom made search engine, hoping for a match among the myriad databases he had hacked into.

He looked back to the TV, watching the end of the battle play out. Two figures racing towards the beast, then stopping short, collapsing to the ground like marionettes with their strings cut. A scream of rage and a promise of revenge from the Great Old One...then, nothing, it vanishes. The ocean calms. The man sighed, glancing back at his laptop.

The search was still running. No hits. He leaned back and closed his eyes, stroking the cat's contended back with one hand.

"Who are you?" he said quietly into the air. "How did you and your friends accomplish that?" He opens one eye and tilts his head towards the computer screen again. "I will find you, my mysterious friend. If it's the last thing I do...I _will_ find you..."

* * *

Dean gunned the Impala around the corner, screeching to a halt into a narrow parking space in front of the small house in the L.A. suburb. He looked back down at the map with the tracking spell imbued on it and back up at the little house. He nodded to himself and grabbed the duffel bag in the back seat, slinging it over his shoulder as he exited the car. He turned his shoulder from the house and made sure that the Demon Knife is clear in the sheath tucked into the small of his back there, and that the vial of holy oil is also secure in his pocket next to his lighter, He looked back up at the house's front door with a determined glare and nodded to himself once again.

"Showtime, Lucie," he said in a whisper. "Hope you're ready for it, you son-of-a-bitch...cause one way or another, I'm getting my god-damn brother back..."

He took a deep breath and strode quickly up the walkway, standing a bit to the side of the door and ringing the bell.

There was a shuffling sound from inside and Dean involuntarily braced himself as he heard a lock turning open.

The door opened a bit and a bleary eyed woman with freckles and short brown hair peered out from behind the chain lock that was still fastened. She blinked a couple of times at Dean and frowned, holding the door a bit more tightly, looking confused.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her voice unsteady like she had just woke up, despite the fact that it was nearly noon.

"Yeah, I'm looking for someone," Dean answered, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a manilla envelope and removing a large black-and-white photo of Sam, holding it up for her to see.

She frowned deeper and rubbed at her eyes, clearing her throat. She squinted at the photo and then back at Dean.

"Ok...so...who's asking?"

Dean smiled and fished in his pocket for his FBI badge, displaying it to her. Her eyes scanned it and widened. "Is that for real?"

Dean handed it to her and smiled. "Go ahead and look it up for verification online. . I'll wait...but I will be needing that back afterwards, Ma'am," Dean offered, knowing that Garth's hack of the database had him firmly ensconced within.

She took it hesitantly, then grimaced and closed the door. Dean heard the chain immediately slide open and she opened the door, looking up and down at him.

"Sorry, but you don't look like a Fed," she said, smiling. She handed him back the badge. "Do you want something to drink? Coffee, maybe?"

Dean smiled back at her tightly. "No thanks. So...is he here?"

She shook her head. "Not anymore, but he was." She looked back at him. "Sam, was it?"

Now it was Dean's turn to look confused. _Was the spell malfunctioning_? _Or did it just run out of juice_? _Dammit_ , he thought furiously, _I wish I had more hands on experience with this spell crap_. "That's right...um, did you say that he 'was' here? Past tense? And that he called himself 'Sam'?" None of this made sense to him. _Why would Lucifer call himself_ ' _Sam_ '? _Was he free_? _Couldn't be_...

"That's right, 'was' here, Agent...um...I didn't catch your name..."

"Van Zant," Dean muttered. "Do you mind if I sit down?" he asked, nodding towards one of the barstool like-chairs up against a tall table up against the wall. She nodded 'yes' to him and Dean sat down heavily, sighing. "Do you mind telling me what he was doing here, Miss...?"

"Just call me Geena," she said, sipping at a mug she held in both hands, smiling over the steam. "Yeah, I found him on my porch steps during the Santa Ana wind-storm yesterday. He looked beat up or something."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Really? Beat up? Huh..." he shook his head. "And you just let him crash here, or what?"

Geena nodded and set the mug down. "Yeah, actually. He just...slept..." she nodded to the small beat up couch in the living room. "Right over there. Then...after the attack in Venice...man, what happened there...? I mean, you work for the government and all, right? What the hell was that thing?"

Dean smiled. "Classified, ma'am, I'm afraid," he answered dryly. "Sorry, but do you mind if I have a quick look around?"

She shrugged. "Knock yourself out."

Dean got off of the stool and searched the small house. It didn't take long. It only had two small bedrooms with closets, a combination kitchen/living room and one bathroom. No attic, no basement. Standard Venice bungalow-style house.

"Sorry about the mess," she smiled at him apologetically.

"No problem...were you asleep, Ma'am? Do you work nights or something?"

"Waffle House corps, represent," she answered. "Working through college."

Dean nodded. "Allright. Just a couple of more simple questions, then I'll get going. Did he happen to say where he was going? And did he happen to contact anyone while he was here?"

Geena shook her head. "Nope. Just crashed, got up and left. Pretty weird, actually." She looked at the floor. "Was he...was he dangerous...you know...was I in _danger_...?"

Dean shook his head. "No, nothing like that. I just have some questions for him is all." Geena looked relieved.

"Cool. I mean, my Mom is always saying that I'm too damned trusting. I would hate it if she was actually right about that. About _anything_ , really," Geena smiled at Dean.

Dean smiled back and went out of the front door. He handed her an FBI business card. "If you can think of anything else that might help, please let me know," he said. "Day or night."

She took the card and gave him another deep smile. "I might just do that," she answered with a wink.

Dean swallowed and blushed a bit. "Um...well, thank you again for your time," he mumbled, and went back to his car.

 _The hell_...?, he thought, grabbing at the map again. The red dot still hadn't moved. It was centered over the house. He looked back up at it and then shook his head.

"Stalled out and a dead end. Great," he muttered. "And no way to make a new tracking spell. Double great." He sighed and started the Impala up, pulling out of the driveway. "Guess I need to find out where you got off to, Sammy the old-fashioned way," he muttered as he gunned the car onto the freeway, maneuvering easily around the hybrid-Japanese imports that infested the road.

Back at the little house, Geena finally moved away from the window where she had watched 'Agent Van Zant' depart a few minutes earlier.

She smiled to herself and drew the curtain.

* * *

"Ow," Crowley muttered, flexing his shoulders, sitting on an uncomfortable wooden chair back at Resistance HQ.

"Oh, hold still, ye big baby," Rowena muttered, wrapping a bandage around his shoulders. "It's just a sprain."

"Which, I might remind you, should only be affecting this immaculately preserved vessel of mine, mother dear. Considering my nature, I shouldn't actually be _able_ to feel pain, unless it REALLY WAS SOMETHING _SERIOUSLY PAINFUL_!"

Rowena grimaced and clucked her tongue. "Well, if you insist on putting it that way..."

"What's more important is to find out what Judah has done to you," Castiel said cooly from the corner of the room, where he stood leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. "It's of paramount importance."

Crowley raised his eyebrows. "I thought that number one on our priority list was locating Lucifer."

Castiel shook his head. "Not anymore."

Crowley sighed and grimaced in pain as he shifted towards him.

"Hold _still_ ," Rowena muttered insistently.

"How is that, Castiel? Please feel free to elaborate."

"You know the saying that 'God works in mysterious ways'?"

"I believe so, yes. What of it?"

Castiel fixed a steely gaze on Crowley. "It's because no one can see His end game until it's been played out. He weaves plans among plans inside even more plans. Despite what He said about wanting to end the world, it is very possible that that might actually _not_ be His final goal. And we need to find out what that is, immediately."

Crowley smiled humorously. "I thought you just said that no one could decipher that."

Castiel nodded. "Normally, I'd agree. But we learned two things today. One; he has imbued you with some type of protective power, and a significant amount of it as well. And two; He asked me to stop Him from ending the world. To protect it from Himself."

Crowley frowned as Rowena taped off the bandage and stepped back, admiring her work. "How does that information help us, Castiel? Explain that to me."

"That we have that information _at all_ is a miracle in and of itself," Castiel replied, not blinking. "In the entire history of...well _history_ , no one has ever had any kind of glimpse into God's plan." He pointed his finger at Crowley. "Now we know these two things...and small though they might be, it's more information than anyone's _ever_ had, and the fact that He gave it to us like that cannot be just a coincidence. So, like I said, the first part of deciphering what that plan is, is figuring out exactly what He did to you."

Crowley grinned like a Cheshire, showing teeth. "Maybe that's part of the 'plan' as well. Did you consider that?"

Castiel shrugged. "It probably is. But it is also the most important thing in the entire universe right now, so we actually have to go along with it...mysterious ways, right?"

Crowley stood up and winced as he pulled on his suit jacket. "What if we need Lucifer to figure that out. Judah did something to him as well. Say we still need to find him first, what then?"

Castiel frowned and glanced over at Rowena. "Is there anything that _you_ could do to find out what Judah did to your son?"

Rowena tapped a finger against her chin. "Possibly. Worth a try, anyway."

Crowley held up his hands, palms out. "Castiel, seriously, just consider what I'm saying...having Lucifer running around out there is a bad enough situation as it is. The chance that he could also be instrumental in finding out what kind of power I'm now carrying is just an added bonus..."

"You just don't want me casting spells on you is all," Rowena sniffed.

"And for good reason," Crowley muttered.

"You _are_ just a big baby."

Crowley gave her a tight smile.

Castiel rolled his eyes, then looked back insistently at Rowena. "Seriously, though. Can you do it?"

Rowena shrugged. "Like I said - possibly. If he let's me do my work, then yes, I'm sure I could manage it." She smiled. "Besides, having a peek at the forces that _God_ wields...well, _intriguing_...to say the least."

"And I thought I said 'no'..." Crowley grumbled unhappily.

Castiel nodded. "Just...indulge me, Crowley." Crowley sighed and looked away. Castiel nodded to Rowena. "So, what do you need from us?"

Rowena smiled.


	10. Autem Diaboli Mors

**Autem Diaboli Mors**

 _….call me Lucifer  
'Cause I'm in need of some restraint_

 _So if you meet me_  
 _Have some courtesy_  
 _Have some sympathy, and some taste_  
 _Use all your well-learned politesse_  
 _Or I'll lay your soul to waste_

 _Pleased to meet you_  
 _Hope you guessed my name._

Dean was on the Hunt.

He had canvassed most of the Los Angeles suburbs over the space of four days, including some very 'interesting' forays into gang territory that he basically had to bribe his way out of just to leave with his skin intact. He barely had taken the time to eat or sleep. Sam was out there. Or, more accurately, the Devil was out there, and Sam was his hostage.

He glanced down at the pile of wrinkled and disorganized print-outs on the Impala's passenger seat and sighed.

"Well, here goes nothin'" he muttered, pocketing his FBI badge and checking to make sure his gun was clear in it's shoulder holster.

He got out of the car and put on his sunglasses, looking across the street at the small convenience store on the corner sequestered among other shops in a mini-strip mall, cordoned off by police tape with one patrol car still parked outside next to a police forensics van.

According to the police band, there had been a standard robbery during the night, but that something had gone 'sideways' during the incident. Dean had been checking up on literally every out of the ordinary mention - literally _anything_ that could, possibly, maybe be tied to a supernatural event. In Dean's mind, there just wasn't a possible way that Lucifer could be walking around and not letting loose every once in a while. It just wasn't in his nature. No way that he was laying low. No way that he would be able to maintain a low-profile.

Dean had been starting to wonder if he had seriously whiffed on that opinion.

He had found nothing. Some reports of voodoo rituals that turned out to be the standard hucksters and frauds. An incident where someone had reported a haunting, but was so jacked up on Meth, he probably saw floating pink unicorns as well. Several wanna-be witches performing fake occult rituals that they dug out of books of 'witchcraft' that they had found at garage sales...Dean had personally visited over a hundred scenes and had found nothing. Nada.

Zip.

He recognized and the waved at the cop on duty and grimaced to himself. He was becoming a permanent fixture at L.A. crime scenes in the last week. The cops were starting to recognize him as well. Not a good policy for a Hunter. He needed to get a break, or start thinking of another strategy. And fast.

"What's shakin', Mitch?" Dean grunted, inclining his head at the store and police tape.

The officer smiled. "Oh, you'll like this one, 'Mulder'," he answered, the snark evident in his voice. "We even got some weird symbols on the wall in this one...say?If this actually is aliens or something, do you think you can bring Scully in on this one? I love redheads."

"Very funny, jackass..." Dean smiled back. "Keep it up. I'm sure traffic duty for a year is lots of fun."

"Yeah, yeah, no offence, don't get all pushed out of shape, _Agent_ ," Mitch smiled, walking over and lifting up the tape for Dean. With a sweep of his arm, he indicated the shattered glass door, which had been literally ripped off of it's hinges. "After you, sir."

Dean muttered a thanks and ducked into the shop, tucking his FBI shield into his belt so that it was visible.

He took off his sunglasses slowly.

The place looked like a bomb had gone off. A bomb filled with blood.

The forensics teams had removed the bodies, but the carnage that had happened here was evident on every wall, every surface, even over all of the merchandise. And, yes, there were even some crudely drawn, but actually authentic, demonic sigils written on the walls in blood, and, Dean noted to his dismay, other fluids that had been forcibly extracted from the victims. A couple of the forensic officers glanced over at him and nodded. Dean noticed that even they looked pale.

"Holy mother..." Dean said, moving slowly inside. He turned slowly, then walked over to one of the forensics team members.

"Camera?" he asked quietly.

"Dead as a doornail," the officer replied. "The tape was ...I dunno...wiped or something."

Dean frowned and looked around, then walked to the store's facade and out across the street.

"And the traffic cam? What about the Shell station across the street?" he asked, pointing at the two spots outside.

The officer frowned. "Nope. Haven't got that far yet. Gimme a sec Agent Van Zant." He walked over to a large briefcase and pulled out a notebook and flipped it open, logging into the police database. "Let's see...Eastlake Avenue and North Broadway...yep, got 'em." Dean leaned in and watched. "Let's see...robbery call came in at 3 am last night...," the officer mumbled, fast forwarding through the playback from the Shell station cam." OK, here we go. Oh...oh holy hell..."

The camera had a clear view of the lit up store. Bodies hit the glass, blood spraying like a fountain. The carnage inside was evident, even from so far away. After a few minutes, a figure came out, covered in blood.

 _Sam_.

"Holy...that's the perp?...That was _one guy_? One guy did all this...?" the officer whispered in disbelief.

Dean squinted, and nodded. "Yep. One guy."

"Jesus...you...you know this guy? This the one that you've been looking for? The boys in the station said the Feds've been hounding the crime scenes all damned week..."

Dean nodded slowly. "Yeah." He straightened up away from the laptop and took a deep, steadying breath.

Finally.

"OK...ok, get on the horn to your lieutenant, "Dean barked. "I want traffic footage for a ten mile radius, this guy is on foot. I want to know where the hell he went...and I want it yesterday, understand?"

The officer nodded quickly and picked up his smartphone, dialling quickly as Dean surveyed the scene once again.

 _Damn_.

 _Why would Lucifer go off like this_? he thought. _It's like a wild animal got loose in here_...

"They're on it, Agent," the officer interrupted. "Also, the Lieutenant requested that you come down and help him coordinate the search web and capture, if that's ok with you guys."

Dean shook his head. "I just need to know one thing..." he fixed the officer with a cool gaze. "Where he is."

The officer looked at him like he had three heads.

"Agent...you can't _seriously_ be considering going after this guy alone, right?" He glanced around the room again. "I mean, _look_ at this place...there had've been five people in here when this went down..."

"Tell your Lieutenant to back off. This is a Federal matter," Dean replied calmly. "Your resources are at _our_ disposal, and we at the FBI appreciate that. Tell him... that if I don't report back within two hours of locating this sonofabitch, _then_ he can send in the cavalry. Got it?"

The officer let out a deep breath. "Sir...this is _highly_..."

"Got it?" Dean repeated, his voice like steel.

The officer swallowed and nodded, talking quickly into his phone.

 _I'm coming for you, you bastard_...

* * *

Crowley, covered and dripping in green slime, burst out of the side-door to the Resistance Headquarters warehouse and shuddered, furiously wiping the residue away from his head. He pulled out a handkerchief and also began scrubbing at the symbols traced onto his hands in charcoal.

Castiel came out of the door a few seconds later and sighed.

"Crowley..."

"I don't want to hear it, Castiel!" Crowley growled. "I think that that witch is just having fun with me..."

"I'm sure that Rowena wouldn't waste her time on..."

"Do you have any idea how much this stuff _itches_?!" Crowley interrupted. "Of course she's being petty!"

"Crowley..."

Crowley held up a hand. "No, Castiel, that is _it_...we have been at this for days now, and have found out absolutely _nothing_ as to what Judah did to me and why I have so much power. I say, enough is bloody well _enough_. I'll be at my record label offices. Drinking. You're welcome to come along."

"I...uh..." Castiel answered , looking back at the Resistance doors.

"Fine," Crowley grunted, closing his eyes, but keeping his hand up. "But you tell _her_ ," he hissed, jabbing his finger emphatically at the open door, "that I will only come back when she can _prove_ to me that whatever mumbo-jumbo she is going to conjure up is actually going to get some results...and not burn half of my skin off!" With that, he stalked off to his Ferrari, jammed the keys into the ignition, and sped off, spraying gravel everywhere.

Castiel sighed and lowered his head, going back inside.

* * *

Dean got the call back from the LAPD less than thirty minutes later. He had had to argue with the Lieutenant once again for an additional ten minutes before he, grudgingly, agreed to let Dean go after Sam alone.

Venice Beach. Sam had been tracked to Venice Beach. To the scene of the attack from the giant sea-monster a few days back.

There were still lookey-loos camped out all over the beach. Freaks and conspiracy theorists mixed up together, combing the place for magic, supernatural reside or whatever. The military and police had cleared out the actual debris from the fight itself ages ago, but there was still the feeling of 'electricity' in the air from such a bizarre event that drew people to it like flies to honey.

And somewhere in that mass of humanity was Sam.

He found a parking spot a few blocks away and changed his clothes in a public restroom, donning some loose sweats to try to blend in...he couldn't afford to have Lucifer spot him too soon. He slung a small backpack over his shoulder and hiked down to the beach itself, scanning the crowds.

He spent nearly a three hours doing it before he headed away from the beach, shaking his head in disappointment. He had also made damned sure to relay his lack of progress back to the LAPD every hour to keep them from freaking out and storming the place. Still, no sign of Sam. He trudged towards the boulevard, past the restaurants and the panhandlers, some of them bathing in the street fountains.

He froze.

Dean rushed over to one of them and grabbed him by the arm, hauling him out of the water.

"Heeeey!" the man spluttered, howling in protest. "I'm allowed ta wash here...it's the law, man!"

" _Where did you get this jacket_?!" Dean growled, holding the lapel bunched up in his fist. It was white, with the unmistakable pattern of bloodstains on it, albeit washed out from the exposure to water and soap.

"It's mine!" the man protested, defiantly trying to wrest it from Dean's grasp.

Dean tightened his grip and pulled him closer. " _WHERE_?!" he yelled.

The man turned pale, eyes going wide. "Hey...hey, chill out man..."

Dean glared.

A couple of police officers had begun walking over to the scene. Dean whipped out his badge with his free hand and held it out, never breaking eye contact with the homeless man.

"Back off..." he warned the officers. He held the man's gaze. " _Where_...?"

"Down...j...just d...down the alley...behind the stores...he's...man...that dude's _nuts_ , though...you don't wanna mess with him..."

Dean let him go, and the man, off-balance, fell back ungracefully into the fountain. "Yeah, well, so am I..." Dean muttered, heading off to where the man had pointed, glaring at the two beat cops as he passed them. To their credit, they were smart enough to realize that it would be much better immediately finding something better to do than to get in the way of a pissed-off Federal Agent.

"His _eyes_ , man!" the homeless man called out after Dean. "...there was something wrong with that dude's eyes!"

Dean rounded the corner leading to the aforementioned alleyway, drew his gun, and began slowly moving down it, navigating around piled up trash and discarded, broken restaurant chairs.

He saw a form, crouching over a pile of empty candy wrappers and potato chip bags...'loot' from the convenience store robbery.

 _The hell_...?

He slowly turned his head towards Dean.

Pitch black eyes stared back at him from Sam's bloodstained face, and with a guttural growl, he sprang with preternatural speed at Dean.

Dean fired, hitting Sam in the knee, spinning him out-of-control to the ground. Sam scrambled at the pavement and let out a howl of fury, trying to stand on one leg.

" _Lucifer_...?" Dean hissed, confused. This looked like an animal..."Sammy...?"

The gunshot brought the two police officers tearing around the corner. They pulled their weapons and began shouting.

"I said to BACK OFF!" Dean screamed at them, holding out his hand at them. He advanced slowly on Sam, who returned Dean's gaze with pure, venomous hatred.

"Sammy?" Dean repeated through dry lips.

The creature threw back his head and laughed - a deep, hollow, cold sound.

"Sam? Sam's not here, _Winchester_ ," it hissed. "There is only _me_ now..."

"Lucifer? What the hell happened to you...?"

The black eyes stared back coldly at Dean.

With a howl of rage, it ran towards him, still amazingly fast despite dragging it's ruined leg behind him.

Dean fired again.

The second leg went out from under Sam, and it roared in fury. Windows around them shattered.

"What the hell was that!?" one of the officers screamed in panic.

Dean cocked his head, considering.

"A Demon. Nothing but a stinkin' Demon..." he muttered.

"I am LEGION!" Sam screamed at him, laughing hysterically. "I am the Ruler of Darkness, no mere Demon! I am the Beast! The Triple-Number!"

"Is he on something?!" one of the cops yelled at Dean, but he ignored them.

Dean slowly removed his back pack, eyes fixed on Sam.

"Allright then. Lucky I came prepared..."

He pulled out a leather bound book and a vial of Holy Water.

" _Regna terrae, cantate Deo, psallite Domino... per caelum, caelum antiquos, glori Patri_ "

The Devil screamed.

* * *

Lucifer stood in the back of the alley, watching the scene unfold. He felt the presence beside him and smiled.

"Hello Father."

Judah moved to stand next to Lucifer and nodded to Himself.

"Hello Son."

Lucifer looked over, then back to Dean reading the Rites of Exorcism over his vessel.

"Can he see us?"

Judah shook His head. "Of course not. We are now standing beyond time and space. At the Threshold of Being. At the border of Life and Death. We are merely witnesses to this event."

Lucifer smiled. "So nice of you to let me witness my own death, then. I suppose I should thank you."

Judah smiled thinly. "Oh, not just me, son." His eyes went skyward, and Lucifer followed his gaze.

Dark figures stood all around the rooftops of the alley, like crows. Row upon row of them, hundreds, maybe thousands.

 _Reapers_.

Lucifer scanned around until he saw one of them make his way out to stand in the front of the gathering.

Death himself.

"I didn't figure you'd miss this, either," Lucifer smiled.

"Oh, I wouldn't," Death replied, returning the humorless smile. "Allthough, this isn't the _exact_ occasion that I had hoped for."

Lucifer clapped his hands gently together mockingly, smirking. "Well said."

Judah watched the exchange, then looked back at Dean standing over Lucifer in the alley, squinting.

"Oh, I see. There is only the Demon, now." He cast his gaze down, then looked back at Lucifer. "What a pity, son."

"Well, Father, you always did warn me that the Demonic energy would one day take over completely. Well, that day is here."

"Leaving you all too vulnerable for Dean Winchester to exorcise you," Judah mumbled. " How very clever of you. A favor?"

Lucifer's eyes twinkled. "A gift."

Judah thought about this for a moment then nodded. "You do realize, that once the Demon is exorcised, there is nowhere for it to go. You shall be utterly destroyed. The Vault of Souls in Hell is emptied and I have rendered it unable to receive any more."

Lucifer's eyebrows raised. "That was you?"

"Of course."

"What did you do with them all?"

Judah smiled. "Put them someplace safe."

"And what about the Empty? The Great Void?"

Judah shrugged. "Overrun and now ruled by the Old Ones I'm afraid, whom, I might add, have no love for you - your fault as well, son. There is nowhere left to go."

Lucifer smiled and looked back up at Death, who was regarding him like a vulture circling a corpse. "Oh, so this is a _perfect_ day for you, then, isn't it."

Death's lips spread into a thin, ghastly smile, his eyes turning back to the scene in the alley.

"Today, I reap the Devil Himself," he said, his eyes going back to Lucifer's.

"Time's up."

* * *

"... _libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos_!" Dean finished, his hand held out. Great streams of howling, red and black smoke flew out of Sam's mouth, the sound vibrating the very stone underneath their feet, almost like an earthquake. Birds died and fell from the sky all around them, and the air reeked of sulphur and brimstone. Dean gagged and fell back as the smoke funneled away, the air ripping and tearing at the turbulence, until finally, there was stillness. Silence.

The Devil was gone.

The Devil was dead.

Then he heard another sound.

Coughing.

 _Sam_ coughing...

"Sam...? Sam?!"

"My...my legs..." Sam grimaced. "Someone shot out..."

"Get an ambulance!" Dean screamed, turning back to the cops, who were standing slack-jawed at the mouth of the alley. "NOW! Move it!" The cops blinked, then began shouting into their radios simultaneously.

Dean turned back to Sam and gathered his shaking form into his arms.

"It's gonna be all right bro, I got ya," he whispered. "I found ya. I got ya."

* * *

"So, I've found you at last," a voice said from the stairway leading up into Crowley's loft offices at Hellfire Records. Crowley looked up sharply from his tumbler of whiskey and squinted.

"Who is that?" he asked, confused. "How did you get in here?"

"Oh, I may know a trick or two for a locked door," the man replied. Crowley detected a slightly British, almost aristocratic accent. "One of many skills that I hope to put to use. To your _benefit_ , of course."

"You broke in? You broke in _here_...?" Crowley answered, incredulous. "My dear fellow, you have no idea how unlucky you are. Especially on a day like today...I am in a seriously _foul_ mood..."

"It took my programs a long time to find you, Mr. Crowley," the man said, chuckling. "Ironic, that."

"What is?" Crowley asked, confused.

"Your name, actually. Is it an alias?" He waved his hand in the air, dismissing it. "Never mind. It's only a funny coincidence, to be sure."

"It won''t be so funny a second from now..." Crowley grumbled, standing up.

"Oh, no no, I intend no harm!", the man said, throwing his hands up. "As I said, I am only here to help you...well, maybe we can help each other, actually."

Crowley tilted his head. "Start talking. And I'd advise you to make it good. _Very_ good."

"Well, I saw your exploits on the telly, you see? The ones on the beach, battling the gigantic creature."

Crowley twirled his hand impatiently in the air, sipping his drink.

"That was Cthulhu himself, wasn't it?" Crowley glanced up sharply, and the man waved his hands dismissively. "No, no, don't answer that, actually, I _know_ that it was...the question is...how did you mange to summon him? I mean actually summon him here and let him manifest?"

"Look, maybe this is a good time for you to turn around and walk away..." Crowley said lowly.

"No, _please_ , hear me out. I'm a bit of an expert on these things, you see. The Old Ones? It's my life's work. In the family blood, if you want to put a finer point on it. I can _help_ you...I have knowledge of these creatures that you couldn't possibly have access to..."

"You'd be surprised..." Crowley muttered. He leaned back in his chair. "What did you mean by 'in your family's blood'?"

"Well, you see, my family is, well, always has been, intimately involved with the Old Ones; studying them, cataloging them, and like you, or so I've surmised, stopping them from returning."

Crowley tented his fingers and leaned forward, squinting.

"Who are you, exactly, young man?"

The man's face broke into a huge smile as he rushed forward, extending his hand.

"It's Crowley too, as a matter-of-fact. Aleister Crowley."


End file.
